Tension in the Laboratory
by Ink Stained Wretch
Summary: Hermione thinks she knows the real Snape and is willing give him everything. But he's not above putting his pleasures and needs first.
1. The Curse

_(Note: Gigabytes of space have been consumed with Hermione-Snape pairings. The couple has some potential: intellectually, they're equals. But they have strong strikes against them, chiefly a huge age difference, the teacher-student power dynamic, and the moral boundaries Snape is willing to cross.)_

* * *

Hermione's monthly cramps were always debilitatingly painful, but she planned ahead carefully always to have painkillers on hand. Today though, because Professor McGonagall held an unscheduled lecture, Hermione had no chance in her overbooked agenda to get any medicine, and she was paying for it now. She slid into her seat in Snape's Potions class next to Ron and Harry, feeling nothing but dismay. 

"What's wrong with you," Ron hissed.

"Nothing," she said curtly.

"Your hands are shaking," Harry said.

She glared at Harry. "Nothing," she repeated more loudly.

"_Is_ there a problem, Miss Granger?" Snape intoned. Everyone in class turned to stare at her.

Dismay congealed into embarrassment. "No, Professor," Hermione said softly in the thick silence, more subdued than usual.

"Detention," drawled Snape, "for whispering, and 10 points for Gryffindor." The Slytherin students grinned at her. Hermione dropped her gaze.

The lesson proceeded. After Snape's sarcasm-filled lecture, the students began trying to make potions. Hermione almost immediately dropped a beaker, which shattered. Everyone froze and stared at her again. Hermione looked around for a broom and dust pan. Her limbs moved slowly, clumsily, and she seemed barely able to hold more than one thought at a time.

"Five more points, Gryffindor and a second day of detention, Miss Granger," Snape drawled again with malicious pleasure.

Harry's head snapped up, the green eyes sparking with fury, and Ron glowered, but Hermione belt her head meekly, said, "Yes, Professor," and fumbled with her beakers.

When class ended, Snape intoned lazily, "Class dismissed. Except Miss Granger."

Harry and Ron shot her sympathetic glances, and she returned a resigned one.

In short order, the classroom was empty, save for Snape and Hermione, who was still quivering. She had the uncomfortable feeling that Snape already knew her problem, which mortified her. She could only deduce that he had great skill at Legilimency.

"Miss Granger," he said in bored tones, "I expect young ladies in my class to come prepared…for all emergencies. Unless you wish to live down to the stereotypes of your gender." He delivered the last word with a sneer.

"Yes, Professor," she managed through teeth clenched with pain. She didn't really mind Snape's ragging her. Truth to be told, she felt anticipation about what assignment he might have for her. If only she could concentrate! Waves of pain engulfed her, making it hard for her to sit up straight in her chair.

Snape turned back to his beakers. "Your lack of planning is as lamentable as it is irresponsible," he said. Unbeknownst to Hermione, he glanced at her in the small mirror in the corner of his desk. He saw Hermione close her eyes briefly. She seemed not to hear him. Snape whirled around and snarled, "Do you need help like some First Year?"

Hermione jumped and met his black, inscrutable eyes. She seemed to understand something, slow as she was.

"Thank you, Professor, but I'm quite all right," she lied, her only giveaway the slight faintness of her voice.

"You're practically sniveling in my laboratory," he said brutally. "_Algesianullis_."

At once, the fist crushing her insides was gone. Hermione slowly exhaled and enjoyed her first pain-free sensation in hours.

"Now! Start with pages 131 to 134 of _A History of Larval Curiosities and Their Secretions for Use in Potions_. I want to see the sanctovenius potion done before you leave. See page 160 in your textbook for step by step instructions," Snape said before she could frame a thank you. She started to speak, but he cut in, "Are you lazy as well as ill-prepared, Miss Granger?"

She paused, wanting to thank him, knowing he would hate it.

"No, Professor," she managed. In 30 minutes, she had the potion, and she knew it was not just good but impeccable.

"I'm finished, Professor," she said.

Snape did not lift his eyes from his notes and beakers.

"Let us hope so."

He set down his quill and strode to her cauldron, standing just behind her. He ladled out some of the vile-smelling brew, then poured it back into the cauldron. With no change in his voice, he said, "You may clean up and go, Miss Granger. You will return tomorrow."

"Professor?" Hermione ventured.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'll help you if you ask. Here, in the laboratory."

Snape regarded her coldly. "What makes you think I need help, especially yours?"

"You know I understand potions. Maybe you might enjoy teaching someone who likes it as much as you."

Hermione hardly dared look at him after this piece of forwardness. "And—" she ventured further—"thank you for your help. Earlier."

Snape paused, and she had the uncomfortably certain feeling that he was reading her thoughts, though his expression showed only contempt. Hermione willed herself to open her mind: "_I want to know more. You can teach me. Aren't as cruel as you pretend. I know. _I know_." _

His words sliced through her thoughts. "There's no need to think quite so hard, Miss Granger. I can practically _hear_ you."

She was shaken to realize how great his powers were. Her eyes, wide and wanting, pleaded with him.

"Perhaps—" he turned abruptly so he wasn't looking at her—"I _do_ need some—lackey—to wash beakers. And so forth."

He turned back to her and raised his eyebrow a fraction again.

Hermione hadn't realized she was holding her breath until then. "I'm 17 now," she thought to herself. "I have my majority. I want to learn! And Ron's so slow. He's brave, but he's slow. Especially when it comes to me." Embarrassing thoughts of the Fourth Year Yule Ball flooded her memory. "Professor Snape is so quick. Merlin's beard, he's quick! I could soften him, I think, if he fancies me at all."

But here her thoughts stumbled. Maybe he didn't fancy her. She had heard rumors that once he had fancied Lily Potter, Harry's mum, and Lily Potter was reputed to have been a real beauty, in addition to being charming, and a powerful witch. Hermione knew all too well that she possessed just one of these traits.

"Yes, Professor," she said humbly.

"Well, then," he said with evident lack of concern. "Tomorrow then."

The next day was a nightmare. Hermione and Ron had a blazing row, much different than their usual bickering. This time was full of bitter silences and obvious resentment on both sides. Harry was little help, warning her off from Snape. Neither of them understood. She had her pain pills on hand and took them regularly, but her body felt numb, and her mood was irritable. She bungled everything in Potions, especially when Snape was near. He casually docked Gryffindor 20 points during the class, to the groans of Gryffindor and the jubilation of Slytherin. Uncharacteristically, Hermione felt herself close to tears.

When class was over, she swallowed hard, twice, then began washing beakers methodically. She tripped once and nearly dropped a phial another time.

"You have a curse on you," Snape's voice lashed out, and she jumped, wincing as she did so—her midsection still felt clenched. Anger washed over her.

"It's not called that any more," she said crisply.

Snape looked puzzled. Then a small smile quirked the corners of his mouth. "A _real_ curse, Miss Granger. Someone's put a lenttempus hex on you. Do you know anything about the lenttempus hex?"

Slow as she was, she couldn't remember. Very strange, as she usually could remember everything.

Snape tilted his head slightly to one side, drew his wand out quickly, and began reciting spells she had never heard before. Within a few minutes, the stupidness and slowness seemed to lift from her, as if a plastic casing were being removed. She flexed her arms and neck. She felt like herself again.

"Th-thank you," she said with fervor.

Snape eyed her inscrutably. "I don't suppose you would know who might put such a hex on you?" he challenged.

Hermione ignored his tone and thought hard about the question, but try as she might, she could think of no one. She shook her head.

"No matter." Snape turned back to his notes. He cast her a scowl over his shoulder. "Are you going to wash these beakers, Miss Granger, or are you incapable even of that?"

Hermione bowed her head slightly to hide her smile and began washing. As she was finishing, Snape's cold voice inquired, "Haven't you reached your majority, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Professor."

"And your plans?"

"I was hoping to learn a bit from you—Professor," she added hastily.

Snape added a few notations to his notes, and silence ensued. Then, "You must remind me then, to open doors for you and let you enter the room before me, and so on."

Hermione was stunned. She knew the import of the rude remark. "Thank you, Professor," she said after a moment.

In the weeks that followed, Hermione began working with Snape in earnest, and he began to trust her carefully accurate notations.

"Miss Granger," he would say, "let me see your notes on that last potion. No. Not my notes. I would have asked for them. …Thank you. That will do."

Twice in the weeks that followed, she corrected him. "No, Professor, it'll work better if you dry the beezleboor first."

Snape sat back and gave her one of his flat, impenetrable stares. "And why is that?"

"Well, the beezleboor is water-based, essentially, and drying it would increase its potency."

"Yes," Snape said thoughtfully.

At the end of the term, Hermione took her N.E.W.T.s and then her Auror exam.

When her owl brought her, her Auror exam results and she had seen them, she walked slowly to Snape's laboratory.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he said as she entered. He was seated at a table writing, a smoking cauldron beside him. Pleasure at her company seemed far from his thoughts.

"I have the results of my Auror exam."

He nodded.

"I've passed."

"Naturally." He went back to his writing.

"That's all you're going to say to me?" Hermione's voice rose. "Professor—"

"You may call me Severus now. If you wish," he cut in. "You're my equal now. In some things, at any rate, if not in—others."

She stared, breathing hard, and could think of nothing to say.

Snape rose and walked to her. To her great surprise, he took her chin in his hand and turned her face to one side and then the other. "An Auror?" he said.

She couldn't feel the insistent probe of his mind, scanning her thoughts, but knew it must be so. "Please don't, Severus," she said, her voice low. "Ask me."

Something glimmered in his black eyes. "You have no skill in Occlumency, but in deduction, you have no equal," he replied, letting go of her chin. "I'm wondering, why did you come back here? Haven't I been callous enough, bullied you enough? Haven't I humiliated you and your mates, ridden you mercilessly these last several years?"

Hermione frowned. "That's not quite true. You've saved each of us when it mattered most. And you've been, well, maybe not pleasant, but—I've enjoyed working with you. It's been brilliant, really. It's been so lovely to be with someone who—keeps up with me. I don't mean to brag," she added quickly.

Snape's mouth twisted into a thin smile. "Hermione—I may call you Hermione, may I not?"

She nodded tightly.

"These little—"

Hermione held up her hand. "You're going to say it's been nice, but good-bye, aren't you? You want to send me on my way. You've held me at arm's length for months now, and I know—" she took a deep breath and continued more softly—"I know you've felt something. You'd be a stone not to. I'm the only student in the history of Hogwarts whom you've let study with you like this. I looked it up. And now you're going to throw me away. There's only one reason for th—"

He had her against the wall, his hand over her mouth, so fast, she could only gasp. His face was close to hers, and the black eyes were snapping. "Don't—_don't,_ for Merlin's sake, say more!" he rasped. "You are a marvel at deduction, Hermione, but this is a subtle game I play, a very subtle game. One false move—"

Eyes wide with shock she nodded above his hand. Her hands were on his shoulders, an instinctive act of protection. He was so close, pressing against her from thigh to breast, she could feel his surprising strength, the wiry power concealed by his robes. Her hands moved slightly, no longer pushing at his shoulders. Instead, she ran her fingertips experimentally over the swell of muscle at his biceps.

"Stop," he said, his hand still on her mouth, his eyes like twin abysses. "You don't know what you're doing."

Her fingertips trailed elsewhere, running over the hardened lines of his long face, the hooked nose, the thin lips.

For the first time, she saw the flash of some genuine emotion in his eyes. He awkwardly moved his hand off her mouth, skimmed his thumb over her lips. Then his mouth hardened.

"Miss Granger, _please_ don't tell me you've fallen for your professor. How _trite_," he injected the word with contempt.

Hermione fell back.


	2. Awkward Position

After the disaster with Snape, Hermione felt herself at a loss. She had pinned her hopes for her future on learning from Snape and opening her own laboratory one day. Without his guidance, knowledge, and assistance, such a future now seemed maddeningly out of reach. She decided to see Dumbledore about other ideas.

"Come in, Hermione!" Dumbledore said affably from his office desk a few days later. "Always good to see you."

Hermione seated herself before Dumbledore, watching Fawkes clean his beak and looking around at the ancient books she would love to read.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Dumbledore steepled his fingers and gave Hermione a warm smile. "Congratulations on your Auror exam, by the way."

"Thank you, sir." Hermione pinkened. "That's, er, what I'm here to talk about."

Dumbledore smiled expectantly and said nothing.

"Well, sir, I'm not sure what to do now. The Ministry has contacted me about working there, but I don't want to work for them."

Dumbledore still said nothing.

"I don't like the way the Ministry has been handling things. That business with Dolores Umbridge here at Hogwarts. Then promoting her! Harry's hand will never lose those scars. And Scrimgeour's behavior since the latest signs of You-Know-Who's return doesn't inspire confidence."

"No," Dumbledore said somberly. "It does not."

"So, sir, I'm looking for a little advice—"

"What about a job at Hogwarts?"

Hermione was so startled that it took her a moment to collect her thoughts. "That would be, well, that would be lovely, sir! What job, er, what job did you have in mind?" She reflected happily on teaching The History of Magic, or perhaps, Advanced Charms, or maybe—

Her delighted ruminations were broken by Dumbledore's saying, as he gazed at the suddenly fascinating ancient writings on his office ceiling, "I rather thought the Defense Against Dark Arts position."

Hermione's spirits crashed into the cellar of her being. "The Defense Against—but sir! No one's lasted in that position for more than a year."

"'No one' isn't you, Hermione," Dumbledore said kindly, fixing her again with his warm smile.

"And, well," here Hermione felt herself flush uncomfortably. "That job is, well, someone else might want it."

"Professor Snape, for instance?"

Hermione's discomfort and blush both intensified. "Well—yes."

"I wouldn't worry about Severus, if I were you."

At the mention of Snape's first name, Hermione felt her face getting actually prickly and turning a shade of red that she imagined as tomato. "But he's been wanting that job since, well, for as long as I remember," she heard herself blurt out.

"Oh," Dumbledore said airily, "I rather think he's not as keen on that job as you might expect. Not as compared to other things."

Hermione was so flustered, she couldn't ask, nor did she think it was her place to inquire, what those other things might be.

"So," Dumbledore continued, a bit forcefully to regain her attention, "would you like the job?"

Hermione swallowed. She hadn't thought about teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts before because it had never seemed like a possibility. But now that she considered it, she knew that she would be good at it. She had excelled at the subject, as Harry had, and she had a natural flair for it, as did most Gryffindors. Plus, she would be at Hogwarts again, enjoying its many intellectual and social stimulations. Seeing the promised land on the metaphorical horizon, she managed to say, "Oh, yes, sir!"

"Then it's yours." Dumbledore's smile became a bit wider. He brought out some sherry from a cabinet behind him and poured two small, golden goblets with the red-gold liquid. Holding his goblet aloft and handing the other to Hermione, he said, "Cheers!"

"Cheers!" echoed Hermione, and poured hers down her throat all at once. It burned going down and licked through her veins like fire. She seemed in a matter of seconds to fill up with a feeling as rosy as the sherry had appeared.

Dumbledore set his goblet down, beaming at her. "I shall expect you two weeks before the term starts, then. You'll be receiving a message by owl. Congratulations, Hermione!"

They shook hands, and then Hermione practically stumbled out of the office, tripped down the spiral staircase, and was just exiting the door by the gargoyle, when she ran into something slim but impassable.

"Oh!" she gasped as she staggered a step backward. A hand with long, pale fingers held her arm firmly so she didn't fall.

"What are you doing here?" Snape said.

"I've—that is, I've—" Now that it came to it, Hermione wasn't at all sure that Dumbledore had been right about Snape.

"If you were in my class, I'd be docking Gryffindor points by now," he snapped. Clearly, he wished this ability were in his power now.

Hermione took a deep breath. "I've-accepted-the-Defense-Against-Dark-Arts-position," she said all at once, then turned her head slightly so she wouldn't have to see his anger.

He was quiet for a long time. Then he said silkily, "Have you now?"

Hermione looked at him then. He hadn't removed his hand from her arm, and they were standing almost toe-to-toe, not six inches apart. "Professor Snape, I'm not going to fall now," she said, glancing pointedly at his hand. He didn't let go.

"I'm glad to hear it," he practically hissed. "Defense Against the Dark Arts? That wouldn't happen to be the position I've craved only since—"

"He offered it to me!" Hermione broke in, stung. "To me! Not to you! So I took it! It's not as if you're offering me any work!"

Snape seemed suddenly perplexed. After a second he said, "You're looking for work? Why didn't you stay with me?"

Hermione felt like screaming. How could he even think that after what had happened between them? She was starting to wonder about his abilities as a Legilimens. The instant she thought that, she saw a tiny smile quirk one corner of his mouth, and a small frisson of fear ran up her spine. Evidently, his powers that way were nothing to underestimate. "That didn't work out, did it?" she said, schooling her voice into more moderate tones.

"Surely that wasn't _so_ bad, Miss Granger?" he said, seeming more relaxed, even (strange thought) cheerful. "But no matter. I'm sure I'll enjoy having you aboard as a fellow faculty member."

Hermione had a sudden vision of sitting next to him at the head table, standing near him at the Yule Ball, assisting classes with him, and her discomfort and uncertainty intensified to a nearly unbearable level. Merlin! Maybe she shouldn't have accepted this job…

"And while you're considering lost opportunities, consider this," he said, breaking into her now-frantic thoughts. "I've had the leisure to think about our little—encounter—too. And I think it shouldn't interfere with an excellent working relationship. Your notes are—" here he looked as if he were being forced to smell something odious—"above average, and your grasp of potion-making is at least as good. I doubt I'll find anyone else with your experience in the current crop of sniveling students. So if your duties at Hogwarts are not too pressing and if you think you can, shall we say, put the past behind you, would you consider assisting me in a project I'm starting this coming term?"


	3. The Three Broomsticks

"You want me to help you," Hermione stated with a wide grin. 

Snape looked as if he wished he could kick himself. "Merely as a convenience," he said sourly.

"Well," Hermione said, "if it's just that, OK, but I expect I won't have much time if I'm faculty myself."

Snape looked doubly displeased at this reminder that she stood on equal footing with him. "_Junior _faculty," he said quellingly.

Hermione just smiled wider. "Teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts," she reminded him.

If anything, Snape's expression grew still darker. "Then I shall expect you in my laboratory the first day of term, after classes," he said, and walked away without waiting for a reply.

Hermione went into Hogsmeade to talk to Harry, who for the time being was working in security at Gringott's.

"I don't think that dragon is the way to go, Griphook," Harry was saying to a dour goblin when Hermione found him. "For one thing, it's blind, and for another--"

"--for another, it won't really want to help you so long as you treat it so cruelly," Hermione broke in.

The goblin favored her with a glare so furious that if looks were deeds, Hermione felt certain she would be in a basket.

"Hermione!" Harry said, his smile lighting his face.

"Hi, Harry. Would you like to get lunch with me?"

"Sure! Griphook, I'll be back in an hour. And please think about what I said about the dragon."

Griphook looked as though it was the very last thing he intended to ever think about, but he inclined his head in a small bow before leaving.

"Whew! He sure didn't look happy," Hermione remarked once they were outside. The sun bathed everything in a late-summer glow, and bird songs filled the air

"Well," Harry said frowning, "goblins are a tough bunch to figure out. Let's go to The Three Broomsticks."

As they slid into a booth inside the pub, Hermione said casually, "So how's Ron?"

Harry took a long sip of butterbeer before saying, "He's been seeing Luna Lovegood."

Hermione was so stunned, she nearly dropped her mug. "Luna?" she managed. "I had no idea they liked each other. Is it--er--is he happy?"

"Do you want the honest answer?" Harry said, fiddling with his fork.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Harry looked up. "He is. Luna's a little--you know. But she's smart, too, and Ron's been taking to her more and more."

"That's good," Hermione said quietly. "I'm really happy for him."

"Do you still have a--er--thing for him?"

Hermione considered. "Do you want the honest answer?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah, I do."

"Then, not any more. Don't get me wrong," she added quickly. "He's still, well, kind of good-looking, and I really, well, I really still like him. But there's..." Here she couldn't think what else to say.

"Maybe you've got another bloke?" Harry suggested.

"Maybe."

"Maybe it's Snape?"

"Maybe," she allowed, feeling herself pinken.

Just then, their food arrived, and Harry dove into a pile of bangers and mash the size of a child's knapsack. Hermione watched in wonder.

"Bit old, isn't he?" Harry remarked, around mouthfuls of potato.

"Maybe," Hermione allowed, shifting in her seat.

Seeing her blush intensify, Harry continued, "Well, there's some things you should know about him before you go any further."

"I know, I know, he's a prat, right?" Hermione said heatedly.

"No," Harry said, chewing and swallowing. He gulped a huge swallow of butterbeer and added, "I'm talking about real things. Just FYI."

"What do you mean?" Hermione couldn't help asking.

Harry forked in some more food. "You remember when I took those Occlumency lessons from him in Fifth Year?"

"Who could forget?"

"Well, I managed to get into his head one time. Threw the Protego spell. Worked better than I could have dreamed. He about fell over! And all of a sudden, I'm seeing," here he leaned forward, and Hermione did, too. Harry continued in a whisper, "a little kid crying while some bloke with a hooked nose yelled at this woman. Later, you, me, and Ron saw a picture of Snape's mother, so I put two and two together and realized the woman was his mother, so the hook-nosed bloke must have been his dad."

Hermione absorbed this piece of news in startled silence. It was hard to imagine Snape being small and defenseless.

"I saw him later, too," Harry said, "alone in his room, killing flies with his wand. He tries to give you the idea that he was some bigshot at Hogwarts as a kid, but I think he was kind of a loner." Harry carefully refrained from revealing the memory that Snape most wished to conceal about his time at Hogwarts. "What I'm saying is--"

"That Snape was a lonely, abused child who grew up to be a lonely, abusive man."

"Well--er--yeah," Harry said uncomfortably, and applied himself anew to his mash.

Hermione took a bite of her roast beef sandwich. "Thanks, Harry," she said. "I really appreciate it. I'll--er--keep it mind."

Harry glanced up from his plate and smiled. "If anyone can keep something in mind, it's you."

"So," Hermione cut in, to change the subject, "are you seeing Ginny now?"

Harry began choking, and Hermione had to pound him on the back for several minutes. "How did you figure that out?" Harry asked finally, tears streaming down his face.

Hermione grinned smugly. "I think it's obvious."

Harry glowered. "Well, you're right. We are seeing each other. Ron's not happy, but he's resigned."

"How's it going?" she pressed.

"Well," Harry bit off, and gave her a look that told her the subject was now closed.

"How is it working at Gringott's?" Hermione said after a pause.

"_Muffliato_," Harry said hastily when two other diners glanced their way. Then, in low voice, he continued, "I like it. I didn't think I would, but it gives me a chance to see what's really going on with a lot of families. Especially," his voice dropped even further, "people like the Lestranges. More security on that vault than I've ever seen. You know, I was disappointed when Snape gave me that E in Potions so I couldn't be an Auror. I called him a greasy git for a month after that. But maybe he did me a favor after all."

"Harry, maybe he was doing you a favor," Hermione said.

Harry snorted. "Not bloody likely."

"Well, think about it," Hermione persisted. "He can't exactly be _nice _to you if he's, you know."

Harry thought about it and snorted again. "You haven't seen him like I have."

"And I wonder what his Patronus looks like," Hermione went on as if she hadn't heard. "I'm told it's a snake, but no one's seen it for years and years."

"Well, he doesn't need a Patronus, now, does he?" Harry said. No need to fight Dementors if you're supposed to be on the same side, he added to himself.

"You remember you told me how he made fun of Tonks's new Patronus when hers was changing to look like Lupin?" Hermione continued. "Snape said her new Patronus was weak." She looked troubled.

"Who cares?" Harry said. "Just remember what I told you about him, right? Now are you going to finish that sandwich?"


	4. In the Dark

Hermione strode down the corridors of Hogwarts toward the dungeons. The early autumn light at this time of day was thin beaten gold, shafting through the high windows onto the stone flags in watery bars. Once she descended to the dungeons, though, the light became gray and uncertain, overtaken by the eerie green lamps. Still, it did not dampen her mood. She swung open the door to Snape's office.

The first day of term classes had gone all too well. She had, of course, prepared meticulous lecture notes and practiced until she could deliver her lectures smoothly, one for each of the seven classes. She had also devised strategies to counter the challenges she expected to her authority-and she was not disappointed. She had managed to cow the Slytherins, even the Seventh Years, some of whom had known her when she was a student. She had half-bullied, half-humored the rebellious Gryffindors into following her rules. The Ravenclaws had tried to stay a step ahead of her, without success. And Hermione fervently blessed the Hufflepuffs for being the easiest of her pupils.

"Hermione," Snape said, looking up from an ebony desk with flickering candles, the only light in the room. It startled her anew to hear him call her by her first name. "Close the door. Please," he added as an afterthought.

She shut the door. "Professor."

"You'll have to call me Severus now. Otherwise, the students will think you haven't taken your N.E.W.T.s yet."

The words were faintly mocking, but Hermione was learning to disregard that. She cleared her throat. "Severus," the name still felt awkward on her lips. "You said you were starting a project?"

Pushing himself back from his desk, he said, "Look at this spell and tell me what you see." He extended a page of parchment toward her.

With some trepidation, she drew near and took the parchment, which was covered with his close, crabbed handwriting. She scanned it twice, then looked up, alarmed. "There are three Unforgivable Curses. Why make a fourth?"

Something glimmered in his eyes. "I thought you might see it. But it's a little more than just a curse, I think."

"It has a powerful deflective element. The most powerful I've ever seen. These elements together would, would--"

"Deflect the Killing Curse, I believe. Not much, but maybe by enough." He blew out one of the flickering, nearly liquid candles on his desk, and the room sank into deeper shadow. "We shall see."

"But you'd have to be very close to your...target..." She looked at him with renewed alarm.

"I'm crafting a number of new charms and potions this term. I think we may be needing them." He blew out another candle. Only two were left, guttering in the gloom. "It is, of course, something close to Dark Magic." He blew out the last two glimmering candles, and the room plunged to black.

In some ways, it was a relief not to see those unreadable black eyes and to be always trying to avoid looking directly at them, with their probing power. But the darkness also hid his expression, and Hermione needed whatever clues to his thoughts she might be able to glean.

She set her hand on top of his desk, near to where she remembered his own hand had been.

"Prof--Severus," she said.

"Yes."

"You've called me to your office to work in the dark with you?"

After a split second, he gave a small laugh. "You are brilliant as ever, Hermione. However, it's true that I want to develop these charms. And it's also true that some of the experimenting must be done in darkness."

"Some?"

"Not all," he admitted after another brief pause.

"Which bit are we on now?"

"I think we're on a bit that doesn't have anything to do with charms. Not these, anyway."

Did he mean that _she_ had charms, beyond the magical ones? No one had ever said so before, including her mirror, and Hermione didn't delude herself.

"No flattery," she said. "Tell me what you want from me."

"You don't believe I might want you for yourself?"

"No," she said bluntly. "You're Head of Slytherin House, and I know what defining characteristics you embody."

"Which are those?" His voice sounded a bit too smooth, she thought distractedly.

"Ambition, primarily," she replied. "Cleverness, resourcefulness. Blood purity."

"As you know, my blood isn't pure."

"You want me for something, and it isn't my stunning looks," she persisted. "So what is it?"

She heard a rustling and scraping and knew that he was standing up. Then she heard him walking around the desk toward her. She backed up a step and raised her wand.

"Don't light it," he said. "I just want to talk."

She lowered the wand warily. The footsteps came nearer, and she knew he was standing just an arm's length from her.

"It's been highly enjoyable having you under my thumb these many years--ah, ah, no wands, now! But you're a few years past your majority, with a position of power in your own right, so I won't patronize you. What makes you think I might not want to...change the ground rules of our...relationship?"

Tempting, tempting thought. "I know you, Severus. I watched you for years, and you don't do anything without purpose and calculation!" Her voice sounded shrill to her ears.

"I didn't calculate when I was with Lily Evans," he said quietly.

Hermione felt tears spring to her eyes and her throat constrict. "I'm not Lily Evans."

"No. She's gone, and you're here." A finger touched her shoulder, then she felt his thumb move along her cheek.

She turned her head away, but he did what he had done before, taking her chin in his hand and turning it back toward him, though neither could see the other.

"Don't insult me," she said, but her voice wavered. "What do you want? I can help you. You know I would."

She heard him start to speak and then stop, and the next thing she knew, his lips were on hers, his hand still holding her chin in place. Confusion and pleasure swirled through her. She lifted her hands to curve tentatively around his face. The light contact seemed to galvanize him. He took hold of her waist with one hand and the back of her head with the other and pulled her against him. She could feel the wiry hardness of his legs and chest against her body, the power in his arms, the single-minded intensity of his mouth against hers. For several moments, she felt lost, her head spinning, her body feeling weak and clingy. Then Snape's fingers moved down the column of her throat, touching her with firm, light strokes, as though she were a doe that might startle, and he needed to reassure her.

Hermione had only ever been snogged by two teen-aged boys before, and the experiences had left her cool. Neither Viktor Krum nor Ron had shown any particular talent for pleasing her. Although being snogged was exciting, at least for the ego, it was also hard on the mouth. Usually, Hermione felt as if she had been in an oral dueling match after a those sessions. But this was different.

"I've never been interested in students or former students before," Snape murmured in her ear, very quietly. "But you're different. You're different. I've been watching you. ...Hold still." That was all the warning she received before she felt his mouth touch the hollow of her throat, softly at first, then more firmly. She tilted her head back. Never had she thought that area could be so sensitive. One of his hands was splayed along her collarbone and neck, the other still held her firmly by the waist. A rushing sound was in her ears, and she was dimly aware that she was making breathy noises with each inhalation. She ran her fingers lightly and shyly along his jaw and through his hair, which felt rough to her touch.

One of his hands caught hers, and then she felt his lips on the back of her hand. "Sweet," his low voice cut through the buzz in her head. Then he turned her hand over, and a shock ripped through her as he touched his tongue first to her palm, then to the inside of her wrist, then up between her ring and middle finger.

Someone knocked tentatively at the door. "Professor?" a boy's voice said. "The start-of-term feast begins in 20 minutes."

Snape pulled abruptly away. Hermione heard the sound of a match being struck and flame leaped to life in the palm of Snape's hand. "Thank you, Gibbet," Snape said in bored tones. "I shall be out presently." He lighted the candles on his desk again, and closed his hand to extinguish the flame.

"You'll have to return to your rooms, as we can't leave here together," he said.

She pinkened and started for the door. But her heart was singing.

"Hermione."

She paused but didn't turn around.

"Meet me here tomorrow after classes." She didn't respond. "Please." That little word came hard for him, she could tell.

She gave him a quick smile over her shoulder and left the office. No one was in the corridor. She headed back to her rooms, close to Gryffindor Tower.

It seemed to Hermione afterward that she almost floated. Through the start-of-term feast, the ensuing night, and the classes the next day, her thoughts flitted happily back to that moment in Snape's office, with darkness all around, when he had enfolded her in his arms. She knew she was behaving in a silly way and that her friends would mock her if they ever knew, but she couldn't seem to help herself.

This happy interlude lasted until just after lunch, when she was coming around a little-known spiral staircase headed toward her classroom in the dungeons, when she overheard Snape's voice. Her spirits soared. Then she registered what he was saying.

"It's none of your affair, Minerva."

Hermione froze, listening in spite of herself.

"It may be none of my affair, but she was my star pupil, and I'm fond of her, and I won't stand by while you use her!"

Hermione felt a sudden breathlessness.

"Whoever said I'm using her?" came Snape's derisive monotone.

"You want that Defense Against the Dark Arts position! You've wanted it for ages, and now that dear, malleable girl has it, and you're going to twist her around your little finger!"

Hermione waited for Snape to deny it. Instead, he said, "Observant as ever, Minerva. But I'll thank you to keep your nose--and your claws-out of my affairs." 


	5. Revenge

Hermione was fuming by the time she reached her classroom. 

"Right! Peters, Byington!" she barked. "Ten points from Slytherin for--" existing--"whispering! Liu! Ten points from Ravenclaw for tardiness! Queue up! Right here in the middle of the room!"

Warily, the students got in queue. Hermione had planned a sedate lesson introducing the students to the Unforgiveable Curses. Well, that was out the window. Something more bracing was what the occasion called for.

"Wands out!" she commanded. Nonverbally, she summoned a vast array of rotten vegetables onto her desk. The class groaned as the smell of the cabbages began to waft through the air. "We're going to learn about the Protego charm, excellent for deflecting hexes. Right, who's up first? Jones, you're up. I'm going to send the produce at you as fast as I can, and you say 'Protego'. Clear? Brilliant. Oi!"

And she flicked her wand at a putrid tomato, then pointed at Jones. The tomato sailed past his ear to splat into the wall, drizzling him with runny pulp as he let out a belated, "Protego!"

"Well done. Next!" Hermione shouted. Flick at the cabbage, flick toward the student. Smash! The squishy smack of decaying vegetables hitting the wall was so satisfying, she almost forgot to praise the students' efforts. She went through the queue twice before she realized only two minutes were left in class.

"Right, back to your seats."

The students scrambled for their benches, some picking limp cabbage leaves out of their hair and wrinkling their noses.

"Read chapters 1 and 2 of _Dark Magic: Its Origins and Permutations _for tomorrow. I shall expect a six-page summary of the major points by tomorrow." General moaning. The bell rang. "I did not dismiss class!" Hermione shouted over the din. The students seemed to freeze in their seats, muscles tense. Obviously, they could hardly wait to get out of her classroom and probably, use the showers. "Dismissed," Hermione said after a 10-second pause. The students were out the door like bullets from a pistol.

And so it went throughout the day. Just when Hermione thought her hurt and anger had been spent, a fresh class began, and her fury erupted anew.

At last, the final class departed, amid much grumbling. Hermione stood alone at her desk, waving her wand this way and that to clean up the incredible mess and stench and from time to time letting out a half-hearted "Scourgify". She sighed. Again, the scenes with Snape intruded on her thoughts. Just the memories made her legs felt weak and melting, especially when she recalled where he had put his fingers and tongue-- She shook her head slightly. No sense thinking of that now. Stupid, stupid.

The door opened, and Hermione glanced up indifferently. Severus Snape stepped through the archway.

"Oi!" In a flash, Hermione came to her feet, silently summoning as much rotten cabbage she could think of. No warning for Snape. She flicked her wand at a cabbage, took aim at the middle of his chest and pointed.

"_Protego_!" he barely had time to shout before the cabbage exploded before him, leaves and rotting pulp flying everywhere.

She pointed twice more, sending cabbages whizzing across the room in his general direction. No words, just blind, buzzing, crimson fury.

"Blood hel--_Protego_!"

More exploding cabbage. The smell was almost unbearable.

"_Expelliarmus_!" she cried.

"_Compello_!"

She hadn't heard that one before. Instead of Snape's wand being wrested from him (and his being thrown into the wall for good measure), the wand stayed firmly in his hand.

More enraged than ever, Hermione sent three jars of enormous, white, blindly grubbing larvae over his head.

"_Cassio_!" she shouted, pointing her wand at one of the jars.

"_Protego_!"

The jar exploded. Shards of glass and the huge, vile grubs flew everywhere.

"_Cassio_!"

"_Protego_!"

The second jar shattered over his head. More glass and grubs rained around his feet and over his head, though not on him because of the spell.

They stood facing each other across the room, panting, wands raised. Snape stood braced for her next assault, but didn't make any attempt at an offensive of his own. His black eyes glittered.

At this sight, Hermione felt her throat tighten painfully and hot tears slide down her cheeks. With a particularly violent swing of her wand, she sent the remaining vegetables flying off her desk at him and shrieked, "_Cassio_!" a third time.

Snape just put his arms in front of his face and withstood the onslaught as best he could.

When it was over, Hermione darted across the room and pushed her tear-stained face as close to his as she dared. Bits of vegetable matter and the odd slug were now in his hair and all over his clothes. He watched her expression, ready for anything. "And another thing," she shouted, although there hadn't been a first thing, "The next time you want to have a private conversation in the corridor, try _whispering_!"

She slid past him into the corridor beyond, walking as quickly as she dared, her heels clicking on the flagstones, her sobs choked back in her throat.


	6. Thinking It Over

Hermione made her way toward Gryffindor tower, where she had a small suite of rooms, little more than a kitchenette, a bedroom, and a small sitting area. But just as she was getting close to the tower, and bracing herself for the inevitable run-ins with students and faculty, someone called, "Hermione!" and she looked up to see Harry and Ginny coming down the corridor from the other direction.

"W-what's brought you here?" she blurted out.

Ginny and Harry exchanged a concerned look.

"You remember. Homecoming? The big Quidditch game?" Harry said.

Oh, right. Bloody Quidditch. She really should have paid more attention to it. Every year, the first Quidditch game of the season was a big alumni weekend, when parents and relatives swarmed the grounds of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. "I forgot," she murmured.

Ginny and Harry exchanged that look again. "Want to have a pint with us?" Ginny said. "We're going to the Hog's Head Inn."

"Er—will Ron be there?"

Ginny glanced at Harry. "Yes. But it'll be all right, Hermione, really—"

"No, thanks." Hermione backed away. "Things aren't going so well right now. Not so well with…" She again couldn't think what to say. Harry was going to start thinking the name was Taboo.

"Snape?" Ginny provided.

Hermione nodded once. "And there's nothing Ron wouldn't like to do more than gloat! It'll be horrid, and I just couldn't take it tonight."

"It won't be like that," Harry said, awkwardly touching her shoulder. "Ron's not like that, really. He and Luna are very happy. He won't hold a grudge."

"Then I'll have to see how happy he is," Hermione moaned. "Not tonight. Really."

"No, I think you should come," Ginny said forcefully. "Don't you, Harry? She needs to be around friends. Come on, Hermione. Have a pint with us."

They looked so worried that Hermione managed a watery smile. "Well, maybe just for a moment."

In no time, they had made their way to the edge of the grounds and Apparated to the Hog's Head Inn. The bartender nodded to them as they entered and went back to drawing pints. Ginny and Hermione went to find a table while Harry ordered their butterbeers at the bar.

By the time he returned, Hermione and Ginny were talking a little, and Hermione looked slightly further from the verge of tears. Then Ron walked up.

"Harry!"

Everyone moved over to make room for him and Luna, and Hermione felt her heart sink.

When Ron saw her, he nodded in her direction and turned red. "Hello, Hermione," Luna said. "You don't look well."

Hermione held her smile on her face as if it were an egg with all the insides blown out. "I'm fine. How are you?" she said.

Luna gave her a funny look.

"How's Snape?" Ron asked.

"Gnarly knees," said Luna said, gazing at the ceiling. Ron turned even redder.

"I mean, how are classes, Hermione?"

"Oh, they're good." She was going to let it pass at that and say as little as possible, but then she decided to unbend a little. "You remember Peters and Byington?" Ron rolled his eyes. "Well, I have to teach them, and they're always trying to stir up trouble. They remember when I was Head Girl."

"It must be hard," Ron said.

"Well, it's fun, too," Hermione replied, and told them about the rotten vegetable lesson, leaving out the part about Snape. Everyone laughed and drank and laughed some more. And while they were laughing, Hermione watched them, feeling strangely unconnected to everyone at the table or even at the pub. She felt as if she were looking down a long, dark tunnel at her friends, and when they would turn to look back at her, she felt a stab of sadness as she saw the kindness in their eyes and also saw how they came in two pairs, and how she sat alone.

When Harry made some noises about ordering food, Hermione knew instantly that she would never be able to eat a bite. "It's been lovely seeing you," she said to the two couples, "but I have to get back to Hogwarts and grade some papers before tomorrow's game. Otherwise, I'll be hopelessly behind." That made two lies, since Hermione had no papers to grade and was deeply unsure that she would be attending the game.

"Don't you ever stop studying?" Ron said. "Ow! Luna, that hurt!"

"Gnarly knees," Luna murmured at the ceiling.

"Er—maybe I should walk you back," Ron amended uncomfortably.

"Oh, that's all right," Hermione said, but Luna broke in, "You look awful, Hermione. Do you need some tea?"

Hermione wanted to tell Luna how rude it was to say that someone looked awful, but instead, she heard herself saying, "Tea would be lovely, thanks."

"I'll be back later," Luna said to Ron. She leaned down and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Ron's face suddenly looked as though he had been standing in front of a bonfire. "Bye, Harry and Ginny."

And Luna stood up. Hermione followed. In a few moments, they were in Hermione's rooms, with a kettle heating on the tiny cookstove and a few candles casting a dim but cozy glow to the small space.

"What's the matter?" Luna said from the little sofa. "Are you and Professor Snape not getting along?"

"Does everyone know about Snape?" Hermione moaned.

"Well, not everyone. Just me and Ron. And Harry. And Ginny. And probably—"

Hermione made a noise. The kettle began to whistle. "I'll get it," said Luna.

A few seconds later, she pressed a mug of strong tea into Hermione's cold hands. "What's happened?" Luna asked.

Hermione didn't know why, but she was aching to tell someone, so she told Luna the whole story, leaving out the details of what Snape had done in the dark.

"Have you asked him about it?" Luna said.

"What is there to ask? Any way you look at it, it looks bad."

Luna agreed that the conversation with McGonagall sounded damning. "But you have to give him a chance, don't you? He did used to look at you that last year, after you reached your majority, and afterward when you were studying under him. I kind of thought he might fancy you."

"He fancies my job, that's all."

"It didn't seem that way," Luna said, frowning.

Hermione sighed. "I can't think of a single reason why he would say what he did to Professor McGonagall if it weren't true," she said. "So I'm not going to talk to him any more. It'll be hard, since we're both faculty, but I can't think of another way."

Luna still looked puzzled. "Well, all right," she said vaguely. "Well, anyway, you have to sit with us during the game tomorrow."

"No, no, really, I have these papers—"

"I don't see any papers," Luna cut in.

Hermione scowled. "Well, they're not right here, but—"

"I don't see any anywhere," Luna continued, with an exaggerated but rather unfocused gaze around the tiny suite.

This time, Hermione stewed silently.

"Come on," Luna said. "It'll be fun. You'll forget about Snape, or maybe you'll decide to talk to him. Come on. We all want to see you."

Hermione thought about it for a few seconds. "Well...all right then."

Luna smiled. "I don't know if you realized it," she said vaguely, "but Ron and I have a little secret code now."

"Gnarly knees?" Hermione ventured.

"Yes. I say that whenever he says anything a little unkind. I don't know whether you noticed it, but he can sometimes be a bit unfeeling. He's doing much better now."

"I never noticed," Hermione fibbed. "So are you going to say 'gnarly knees' to Ron some more?"

"Oh, probably," Luna said dreamily. "I seem to have to say it once or twice a week, at least."

The two young women giggled. It felt so good to laugh. "I'll meet you beside our bleachers," Hermione said.


	7. Dangerous Encounter

Hermione's spirits ticked up a notch on Saturday, the day of the first Quidditch match of the season. The early autumn sun shone golden and slanting, the air snapped crisp and sweet as an apple. House banners fluttered from the castle ramparts and every conceivable spot on the grounds. Noises of excited voices drifted through the air.

Hermione started off early to the Quidditch field. She was wearing her meter-long red and gold scarf and carrying a little Gryffindor flag for the occasion. She thought she might get some hot butterbeer and watch the teams warm up while she waited for her friends. Filled with these happy thoughts, she turned into a little-known shortcut beneath the stadium.

Her footfalls echoed through the concrete tunnel. All was eerily silent. Hermione picked up her pace.

"Hello, Granger. What have we here?"

Draco Malfoy and his thuggish sidekicks, Crabbe and Goyle, came out from behind a support pillar.

Hermione whipped out her wand without preliminaries. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, concealing her shock and fear.

Malfoy glanced at Crabbe and Goyle, and they all sniggered. "Why? Going to put us in detention?"

"No one is supposed to be loitering under here," Hermione said in her best professorial no-nonsense tone. "Please finish your business and leave."

Malfoy actually laughed. "Granger, you kill me." Then he stopped laughing and took two threatening steps toward her until he loomed above her. "You and that git Harry Potter ruined plenty of schemes I had at Hogwarts. I was planning a little incident here at the game, but I can take some time out to settle some scores with you."

Hermione backed up warily, trying to keep the pillar behind her. Crabbe was crowding on her right, Goyle on her left, and Malfoy was front and center.

"Petri--" she began, but Malfoy flicked the hex away. She spun and Stupefied Goyle, who fell over with a thud. In that second, Malfoy threw his hex, and Hermione barely eluded it. Now they stood panting, coiled. Crabbe was grinning.

"You know what I'm going to do to you, Granger?" Malfoy said, showing all his teeth. "I think I'll Imperius you. Make you do things you've only done to Weasley and Potter. Or is it Snape? You've been spending so much time in his laboratory. I'll bet it's Snape." It was clear from the jibe that he thought no such thing.

Hermione tamped down her spurt of anger and outrage and kept her eyes on Malfoy, wand raised. Crabbe threw a hex, but he had never been good at non-verbal spells, and Hermione slashed it away without averting her gaze.

"Not easily distracted, Granger?" Malfoy taunted. She could see he was enjoying this.

"Not when there's not much to distract me," she retorted.

Malfoy's smile faded, and his wand shot a jet of red light out at her.

"_Protego!_" she cried and ducked. The red bolt hit the pillar where she had been standing with a shower of sparks. Now she had nothing behind her, and Crabbe, she saw from the corner of her eye, was sidling around behind her.

"How'd you like two, Granger?" Malfoy continued softly. "Bet you might like it. Even three, once Goyle gets up. Bet you'd love to--"

"Draco. Slytherin House is on the other side of the stadium."

Snape strode down the concrete walkway. His face was unreadable but faintly malevolent.

Malfoy lowered his wand as Snape got closer.

"Snape, we--"

"Professor Snape, if you please, Draco." He turned his head and regarded Hermione indifferently. "Taunting the Gryffindors?"

"Something like that," Draco muttered.

"Looks like Goyle didn't duck fast enough. Pity. Draco, I wholeheartedly approve of anything you might do to help Slytherin win today, but I must," here he laced his tone with irony, "object to heavy-handed techniques with the faculty. Also, and I say this as a friend, you might want to watch out for the marching band." Hermione was suddenly conscious of the sounds from down the walkway of trombones being tuned and drum riffs being practiced. "Whatever you had in mind, I rather doubt you wanted to include the trumpet section."

"She--it was--" Malfoy sputtered.

"We have a few plans to share with you in the stands. We have reserved a box seat for you. I'll be with you presently."

"Goyle--"

Half-closing his eyes with boredom, Snape pointed his wand at the prone Goyle, who came life, groaning and rubbing his head. "Go up to Box 66 on our side," Snape told Malfoy. "I want to have a few words with our little friend here."

Malfoy shot Hermione a smile of evil promise and made an obscene gesture at her that Snape couldn't see. Then he, Crabbe, and Goyle sauntered off.

Snape folded his arms and leaned back, regarding Hermione with what she realized must look like contempt. He waited until Malfoy and his friends were several meters away before saying, "_Muffliato._"

Hermione knew he could have cast the charm silently. It must have been for her benefit that he had said it aloud.

"Anyone can see us," he said in a low, even voice. His cold, black eyes caught her brown ones, and in that second before she could stop it, she saw the events of the past few minutes unspool before her vision. "Come to my office tomorrow at 10," he said after a pause, and stalked back the way he had come, his cloak billowing after him.

Hermione stood for a moment, watching him in shock. Then she scrambled in the opposite direction, toward sunshine and Gryffindor.


	8. Confrontation

"Hermione! Up here!" Harry shouted.

Halfway to trollied already, Hermione noted. Watching Quidditch was so hard on yesteryear's stars.

She scrambled in the stands, and Ginny thrust a mug of something hot and generously spiked into her hands. Hermione took a long swallow just as the Snitch rose in the air. The Seekers kicked off their brooms, and Hermione heard Harry's intake of breath. He seemed to have forgotten his own drink. His eyes were fixed on the golden ball as it whizzed around the pitch. She marveled to observe that he could follow the Snitch even when nobody else could, even the Seekers.

"You were really good, Harry," she said.

He spared her a smile, but kept his eyes on the Snitch.

"And they're off!" said the student commentator. "Patel almost got the Quaffle, and it's—oo—it's a hard hit with a Bludger to Gryffindor Chaser Eric Walker's head. But no, no, he's ducked. And it's Slytherin's Quaffle…"

Hermione let her attention wander. She was never much for Quidditch anyway. She couldn't help scanning the Slytherin boxes. She spotted Snape easily enough. He was standing, surveying the pitch with a sneer. A funny pang went through her, and something inside her sank to the pit of her stomach. Why did he have to look around like that? Then she saw him make a small movement with his wrist, holding his wand low.

"Ooh, not a good day for Gryffindor, ladies and gentlemen. Keeper Clarence Ghosh is down, and it looks like, yes, it is. Ghosh is out. Too bad."

Groans rose around Hermione, but the Slytherins cheered shamelessly.

Hermione whipped her head up. Snape was smiling, a tiny, gloating smirk. Her brows came together.

For several minutes, there was no action on the pitch as McGonagall directed efforts to get medical attention for Ghosh. He was taken off the field in a stretcher, face pale, blood trickling from one nostril. A new Keeper stepped in.

"So it's backup Keeper Amanda James for Gryffindor," said the cheery announcer. "And we all know what kind of practices she's been having."

The new Keeper's head snapped up as she cried, "Oi!" and she missed a goal. Slytherin erupted in jubilation, while the Gryffindor team slumped their shoulders.

The game dragged painfully on. Ninety minutes in, the score was 160 to 0 in Slytherin's favor. Harry and Ginny vainly yelled encouragement to the Gryffindor players below. Ron slouched and scowled. Luna intently regarded a point in the middle distance. At length, she said, "I see the Snitch."

"Where?" snarled Ron.

"I see it, too," Harry said. "If only Jones could." Nigel Jones was the Gryffindor Seeker and like Harry, a wiry youth full of daring and nerve.

The Slytherin Seeker, Freddie Crippen, streaked around the pitch, seemingly everywhere at once. Jones flew lower in a random, confused pattern. Then he shot away.

"He sees it!" Harry exclaimed.

Jones was flying inches from the ground, dodging Bludgers and players, desperately heading for the whirring little ball. And then Crippen switched direction in midair and began nosediving to earth.

Hermione jerked her head up in time to see Snape pointing his wand surreptitiously down. "Look!" she yelled at Harry, pointing up.

Harry saw. "Blood git!"

"Watch the language!" warned an irritable-looking witch sitting nearby with three young children .

The crowd seemed to inhale as one. Hermione tore her attention back to the pitch in time to see Jones and Crippen rolling around on the field, both of them gripping something small. Crippen delivered an uppercut to Jones's jaw and, using Jones's body as a shield, kneed him in the groin.

Everyone on the Gryffindor side stood up, yelling, including Hermione and her friends. Jones doubled over, but kept his grip on the Snitch. When opportunity presented itself, he headbutted Crippen mightily. Now the Slytherins gasped. Crippen froze. His eyes rolled back in his head, his grip on the Snitch relaxed, and he fell over. Pandemonium erupted from Gryffindor as Jones held the Snitch aloft.

So Slytherin still won the game, but the score was close enough that the rankings didn't change.

Hermione was so anxious and angry, she couldn't sit still.

"Come with us to the Hog's Head," Ginny rejoiced. "We need to celebrate!"

"In a minute," Hermione replied.

Snape had said tomorrow at 10. She couldn't wait that long to give him a piece of her mind. But how to grab a private moment with him? She could see into his box. He was surrounded by Slytherins, the odious Lucius Malfoy was clapping him on the back. Draco was talking animatedly. Two women were looking out onto the pitch. One was icily blond, very beautiful, with a mournfully depraved air. The other, dark and intimidating, had a smile of frank triumph on her face. Bellatrix Lestrange, Hermione knew. For a moment, Hermione's gaze met Bellatrix's, and Bellatrix smiled at her with hooded eyes. Hermione turned her head away, dismayed. Shaking her head slightly, she said to Ginny, "Let's go."

Several hours later, she stumbled into her rooms, drunker than she had ever been. She had kept drinking to forget what she had seen Snape do. Every time someone had said, "To Gryffindor!" she had raised her glass. Laughing, she had refused help back from Ginny and Luna. So now she was very alone. She shut her door and fell onto her sofa, asleep.

Eventually, she realized that the hammering in her dream was someone knocking insistently at her door. Groggily, she regained her feet. It was daytime, to judge by the sunlight in her room. She shielded her eyes. Her clothes were wrinkled and a mess. Her hair was sticking out at all angles. She staggered to the door and opened it.

Severus Snape loomed over her. Hermione groaned. His eyes narrowed. "It is 10:30."

"Oh, it's you," Hermione muttered. She went back to the sofa and lay down heavily.

Snape gingerly entered her tiny sitting room and shut the door behind him.

"In nine years, you have never missed an appointment nor been late," he said. "Are you taking lessons from Potter now?"

"No," Hermione said to her sofa cushion.

Snape regarded her coldly. "I'll talk to you later."

"No!" Hermione said, sitting up and wincing. "No. I've been wanting to talk to you since yesterday." Now she was starting to gather steam. Memory flooded back to her, and with it, her sinking spirits and righteous indignation. "I saw you at the Quidditch game."

"And?"

"And? Do I need to spell it out? You cheated! I saw your wand move, I saw what happened! I saw you smirk and gloat and, and," here she broke off, anger rendering her incoherent.

"In short, you saw me behave like the Head of Slytherin House. Surely this is something you expect?" he drawled.

Hermione pushed her hair out of her eyes, squared her jaw, and met his eye. "You behaved like a coward!"

That got him going, she noted with satisfaction. His pale face paled. "Hermione, there are some things we need to discuss," he said very quietly. Hermione felt her heart skip a beat. She waited. He began muttering charms under his breath, ones she had never heard before. At last, he said, "That will do for a little while. Now, to your accusation. There are things I must do and say if I am to serve the Order, not to mention spare my life. You must know this."

"Of course, I know, but McGona--!"

"I told you from the beginning it's a subtle game I play. What should I tell Minerva? That I don't mind someone else taking the position I've sought for years? That I don't mind because—" He broke off.

"Because what?" she goaded him.

* * *

OK, everyone. There are two ways this can go in a very short while. Lemons is obviously one. But that's a no-no on this site. I understand nothing more than an M rating is allowed, which in American means—what exactly? PG-13 with R language? Um, PG with a couple swear words thrown in? Fade to black, fade up in bedroom with two people smoking cigarettes? I haven't figured this out yet. I'll be thinking about it for the next few days. 

In the meantime, if any of you are 18 or over, I do have some other stories at hp (dot) adult (no space) fan (no space) fiction (dot) net. They're under my alias.


	9. Thawing

Sorry for the ending here, but more soon…

* * *

Snape was quiet for a moment. At last he said, "I've let myself get carried away with you. Most ill-advised. It won't-- "

"Stop." Hermione said. "Prof—Severus. You owe me one small favor."

"And what is that?" Neither his tone nor the unreadable expression with which he glanced around her tiny flat inspired confidence.

"Wait here for 10 minutes."

"I have already been waiting 30."

"I know. I'm—I apologize for the wait. It was inconsiderate of me. It won't happen again."

"Indeed." His tone was so dry it bordered on arid.

"Ten minutes!"

She leaped up, grabbed some clothes from her bedroom and disappeared into the bathroom. Ten minutes later she emerged clean, teeth brushed, hair smoothed, and in fresh clothes. She was almost surprised to see Snape still waiting for her, although his expression, if anything, was even less inspiring. Still, some small hope bloomed inside her when she saw him.

She slid back onto the sofa. "So McGonagall can't think well of you," she said after a moment.

Now something flickered in his gaze as he seemed to reappraise her. "Quite."

"And not anyone else, either, unless it's You-Know-Who. Or Dumbledore."

He gave the smallest of nods.

"And this is the kind of thing that happens often with you."

Now his gaze was locked on her. "Daily."

"I see."

He didn't say anything, but his eyes glittered.

"But doesn't it bother you?"

"What?"

"To be hated by the people you're risking your life to help."

"No," he said, his voice laced with disdain.

"Then why do it?"

He started to answer, but a strange look came over his face. "I didn't do it for them," he said at last.

"Then for what?"

He seemed to be trying to decide whether he should keep talking. Clearly, the conversation had strayed far beyond the script he had mentally composed.

"Maybe it's for her?" Hermione pressed gently. "Maybe that's why no one's seen your Patronus in so long."

Snape went white.

"You never told Harry about it."

"And _you_ won't either!" he shot back. He began pacing around the little room like a panther in a cage. Hermione had known she would hit close to home, but she hadn't expected this near explosion. She had never seen him so agitated before.

"I see I'm not supposed to know this," she ventured. "I won't tell Harry."

"That won't matter. You don't know Occlumency, and I doubt you'd be much better at it than Potter."

"You could teach me."

He sat down on the sofa with his head in his hands and didn't move for several seconds. Hermione wasn't sure what to do. She raised her hand to touch him, then let her hand fall. At length, he straightened and faced her again. "I have seriously misjudged you, Hermione." She wasn't sure how to reply to that, especially now that he was looking deep into her eyes. She knew she should look away from those hypnotic black depths, but could not. "I knew your powers of deduction, but I never thought you would guess this much. This puts me in an awkward position." He leaned toward her on the small sofa.

"D-don't do it yet," she blurted out.

"What do you think I'm going to do?"

Why was he playing games with her? "You're going to Obliviate me, obviously," she said.

"Yes. I'm sorry, but I don't have a choice." His tone, for once, was gentle, and that scared her much more than his usual jeers and jibes.

"No! Not yet."

He sighed and mumbled something as he backed up slightly.

"What?"

"Don't make this harder than it is."

Anger flashed in her again. Don't make this harder…on him? "I should lie down for you to Obliviate me?" she snapped.

"That would make it easier, yes."

"Not yet."

Now his face was very close to hers, really just a few inches away. "What shall I wait for?"

This time she sensed it, the play of her emotions and thoughts parading past his consciousness. "That's not fair." Her voice quavered. She did not want to show weakness in front of him but was unable to prevent it. Still, she couldn't tear her eyes from his.

"Who said I was fair?"

"Not yet."

"Then say my name."

"S-Severus."

"I love that endearing stammer. Say it again and I'll think about not Obliviating you." He trailed one long finger over her cheek and into her thick hair.

She cleared her throat, which now seemed not to be working properly. "Severus." She hadn't meant it to sound so breathy.

He leaned closer. "Did Potter ever kiss you? Did Weasley?"

"How about who you've snogged?" Hermione countered, but her voice carried little heat. She was melting…

"Tell me," he insisted. His eyes were still locked on hers. His finger combed through her hair and began a light exploration of the outer whorl of her ear.

"Ron has," she admitted, feeling the heat in her cheeks.

"Did you like it?"

The blush intensified. "That's not a fair question," she muttered, lowering her eyes.

"Look at me."

"No."

His finger traced her jaw before tilting it up. Now she had to look directly into those dark pools again. "Ah. That pleasant, then?"

"That's not a nice way to find out. You should ask," she said with some of her usual asperity.

"I never said I was nice." And then his mouth was on hers, his lips much warmer than she had expected, his fingers still on her jaw, gently but firmly guiding her where he wanted.


	10. And More

His hands went around her waist, then moved up her rib cage, coming to a stop at a maddening point.

"Hermione."

She opened her eyes.

"You're 20 years old. Whatever are you doing here with me?"

She cleared her throat and tried to clear the fog in her brain. "You're smart and you're brave." She caught him starting to roll his eyes. "I think it—I mean, we—would, uh, make a good—combination. …Anyway, why are you here with me? I'm sure there are lots of, you know, Slytherin girls you'd be more likely to, uh, and I mean, there are lots of nice-looking ones, too." Ridiculous speech, she chided herself.

But his mouth quirked in one of those smiles that never touched his eyes. "No one else knows my mind as you do. And I'm hardly in a position to choose for looks."

"Well, you have power, and that's often a good substitute."

"It is with you, apparently."

Her cheeks burned. "That's not true! I chose for—for what I said I chose for." Embarrassment was becoming acute.

This time he gave his rendition of a chuckle. "Bravery and intelligence? In that order?"

"I suppose," she mumbled. "Anyway, you're interested in me for intelligence."

"And cunning."

"I'm not that."

He shrugged. "Resourceful, then. Call it what you will."

"But, uh, that's all, then?"

"Are you fishing for compliments?"

"No." She lifted her chin. "I just want to know."

He weighed her response a second, then nodded. "All right, then. Not just for that."

"What, then?"

"Hermione, I—" he sounded exasperated—"I like you."

"Just like?"

Now he sighed. "I can't give you more."

"Not emotionally, anyway," she said bitterly, and turned away.

He caught her chin. "I don't want to lose you."

"You don't seem much to want to keep me!"

"I'm a lonely man," he said, dropping his hand. "And much older than you. A lifetime of loneliness and unhappiness to reflect on."

"You weren't unhappy with her."

"Let's not discuss that."

"I'm like her in some ways."

"I know." This, so softly she almost couldn't hear him.

"I'm a Gryffindor like her. I see what you could be, like her. I'm good to you, like she was."

"Stop."

"I can give you what she gave. I'll be loyal to you."

He stood up. "You have no idea what you're—"

"You could have it all!"

"I—you don't know what you're promising!" he raised his voice over hers. "Just 20 years old—"

"Older than she was—"

"You don't have any experience, don't know your own mind—"

"She didn't either! She was younger than I am!"

"I'm 41!" he roared. "I could be your father!"

"You aren't," she said quietly.

He sat down again and hung his head. "You don't know what I face."

"I do."

"With the Order. And the Dark Lord."

"You know I do."

"Then," his voice dropped, "if He knows, then there's a way for Him to hurt you, and me, and a direct path to Harry."

"No one has to know."

He laughed then, mirthlessly. "They already do. Fortunately, they believe me to be using you physically. Which is, I'll confess, an attractive proposition. Though impossible, of course."

"My friends don't think that."

"We'll have to let them know they're wrong."

She didn't say anything for a while, and the silence between them lengthened. "Isn't there another way?"

"I'm thinking. I've _been_ thinking." Before she could say more, he began, "Here's what must happen. You must tell your friends that we are no more. You have broken it off. I am—impossible."

"What? I would—"

"And," he cut in, "I will let it be known among the faculty and with Him that I have tired of you. You're young. And silly." She looked stricken. "Then, we must take some Unbreakable Vows. There are thing I must know, upfront, and be sure of. And then…"

He was quiet a long time.

Hesitantly, she put her hand on his. Her skin looked rosy near his pallor, and her long fingers seemed small near his longer ones.

He turned his hand over and held hers, but didn't meet her eyes. "Then we can be lovers."


	11. Recingo

I'm running up against that lemon problem again.

Here's what I'm going to do: You can read the T version of things here. And if you're 18 or older and like things a bit spicier, you can read the MA version at adult fan fiction.

* * *

She should have sputtered. She should have screamed. "Lovers? Lovers?! Who do you think you are?" But she didn't. She swallowed and looked down at their hands together. Lovers. That was better than nothing. A lot better than nothing. And maybe, just maybe, he would come around to wanting her for more… 

Snape lifted her hand and brought it to his lips, which sent a spark from his lips, through her body, to pool in her lap. She tried to pull her hand away, but he held it tight.

"Don't," he said. He turned her hand over, and she heard herself make a small noise of—what? Pleasure? Protest?

He set his thin lips to the center of her palm, then, holding her hand firmly open, he used his thumb to stroke her palm lightly.

"Dear Hermione."

She couldn't tear her eyes from him, like a mouse watching a snake.

"I shall require some promises from you. We'll make them Unbreakable Vows directly afterward."

"W-what vows?" Her voice sounded too high even to her own ears.

Now he raised his eyes, and she drew back a fraction from the intensity of their purpose. "Do you promise never to betray me, by word or deed, known or unknown?"

The words sounded formal, legalistic. Hermione frowned. How could she promise not to do something…she didn't know would be a betrayal? "I'll never betray you," she concurred.

"By word or deed," he pressed.

"By word or deed."

"Known or unknown."

"How can I promise to do something that I don't know will betray you?" she objected.

"Known or unknown!" His gaze was locked on her, his eyes blazing.

"But how can I—"

"You can! You will! Known or unknown!"

Hermione decided to gamble that he wasn't being unreasonable, which, given what she knew of him, was a reasonable assumption only if the stakes were high. "All right," she said calmly. "Known or unknown."

Snape seemed to relax suddenly, and she realized he had been coiled with fear.

"It's all right," Hermione heard herself saying. She raised a hand to tentatively put on his shoulder. "I agreed. You knew I would agree."

Snape allowed himself a short bark of laughter. "You are too kind, Hermione. Hasn't that ever got you into trouble?"

Before she could frame an answer to that, Snape continued, "This sofa is a bit small. Am I to assume that your bed is not much larger?"

Hermione dropped her hand. "Er—" That was it, then? The lovers part would begin at once, now that the preliminaries were out of the way?

"I hardly need to use Legilimency to read those thoughts. Did you expect moonlight and magnolias?" The voice was cold, the eyes blankly challenging.

Hermione steeled herself. "You might be a little softer with me. You did say 'lovers,' not business partners."

He laughed once more, but this time with what seemed to her to be reluctant but real amusement. "Touché," he murmured. "All right, then." He took her hand in his again. Hers were cold, she knew. By contrast, his felt almost warm. He stood up and pulled her to her feet. "Show me the bedroom. Please." The last word, added as an afterthought, made his words seem less like a command. Hermione turned toward her bedroom and walked the several steps to its threshold and beyond.

Snape entered and looked around. The room was scarcely big enough for Hermione's bed, wardrobe, and small bedside table. The red-gold curtains over the window blocked a little of the strong, autumn sunlight. Snape shut the door.

"_Noctus_."

The room plunged into darkness. Although it was so thickly dark that Hermione could hardly see the window any more, a niggling doubt wormed its way into her mind.

"I can't see a thing," she said. "Can you?" She let the challenge hang in the air until Snape gave one of his reluctant chuckles.

"I'll have to stop taking your abilities for granted," he said, and the light in the room lifted to a twilight level.

Snape sat on the bed, clicked on the cozy bedside lamp, and patted the spot beside him in an exaggerated manner. Slowly, she came around to sit beside him.

"You have to trust me a little," she said, "or it won't work."

She felt his hand smooth itself over her hair, which hung in a frizzy, thick curtain down to the middle of her back. "I trust you, Hermione," he said moving closer, "more than a little." She closed her eyes and felt his lips come down lightly on her own. He held the kiss for a moment before pulling away. She felt him run his hand again through her hair. He seemed to like it, although Hermione knew it was coarse and mousy.

Then he pulled away from her and began unbuttoning his robes, and after a second, she awkwardly pulled her jersey over her head and added her blouse on top of it. Then she crossed her arms uneasily over her bra. He gave her an inscrutable glance and continued taking off his clothes until all that was left was his trousers and presumably, whatever was on underneath. Hermione fumbled with her shoes and socks until they were off as well.

She started to say something, but he pulled her into his embrace for a hungrier kiss this time. One of his arms encircled her waist, holding her tightly against him, while the other gathered up a huge mass of her hair. The next thing she knew, she was lying on top of him, sprawled most gracelessly, and he was holding her there.

"You might put your knees on either side of me," he said, with just a trace of mockery.

For some reason, the light words stung, and Hermione averted her face even as she tentatively put her knees on either side of his waist.

She felt him give a small sigh. "That wasn't meant to hurt," he said. "I'm a bit—rusty."

"With what? Being nice?"

Tiny quirk of a smile. "Among other things. Here, let me undo that for you. _Recingo._"

Her bra came undone, and she scrabbled for its edges, desperate for some reason not to be seen. She knew her body was passable, more than passable, even, with its high, full breasts and narrow waist, but the thought of being subject to someone's judgment, especially his, made her want to hide. His fingers came up to her shoulders and pulled down the bra straps. He brushed her hands away to her sides and lifted the garment away. Hermione couldn't help half-turning from him. This was too much! Too be perched atop him, almost on display, her whole torso out in the open..! Her cheeks burned.

She felt a long fingertip trace her collarbone, then move down, down, down until it reached the side of her breast and began to trace under its fullness. Something brushed the nipple, then she felt his hands cup both her breasts. She squirmed, wanting to hide, get away…

"Is it that bad?"

"It's not bad," she managed. "It's just, I'm so visible…"

She heard him laugh softly.

"Can't I be, you know, on the bottom?"

"It'll be better for you this way, the first time."

"How?" She couldn't help the note of childish pleading in her voice.

"You can control it," he replied. "Surely you've read books?"

"Of course." Of course, but books were never like this! She inhaled sharply as she felt his hands moving on her breasts. His thumbs lightly brushed her nipples. Then he pulled her slightly forward and shocked her by putting one of them to his mouth. With a small cry, she arched her back. She could feel his tongue stroking, then his mouth sucking. He moved on to the other breast, giving it the same treatment. Her hands came down on his chest, which was spare but taut. Experimentally, she moved the pad of her index finger over one of his flat nipples in imitation of what he had done to her, and was rewarded by feeling his hands and mouth still. She leaned over and gave him back some of the same treatment with her mouth. When she raised her head a few moments later, she saw a strange look in his eyes and a certain fullness to his lips she had never seen before.

"You always were an apt pupil," he muttered, tugging at the waist of her jeans with unmistakable meaning.

Hesitantly, she sat back on the bed and pulled them off. Beneath were her plain cotton knickers, the underclothes of a schoolgirl really, about as unsexy as she could imagine. She couldn't meet his eyes. This was excruciating.

His hands were back around her waist, pulling her atop him again, where she obediently placed a knee on either side of him. He pressed her down. This worried her, as she didn't want him to know of or notice her body's reaction. She sat stiffly, trying not to give anything away, her eyes closed, until she heard a somewhat louder sigh than before. Her lashes fluttered open.

"Hermione." He sounded gentle again, the same way he had when he was talking about Obliviating her, which now that she thought about it, was still a possibility. Her heart skipped a beat. "You said this won't work if I don't trust you. I do. Now, you must do what feels good and not what you imagine I should see or know—"

Her brows came together threateningly. He must be using Legilimency…

"I don't need Legilimency to read a virgin's thoughts. They're written all over your face."

She looked down at her hands, which were trembling. He took one in one of his. "Open your legs a little more. And let's take off those, er, quite interesting knickers."

"You're making fun of me."

"No. No, I meant it."

She looked at him quickly, and if an almost unreadable expression could be deemed earnest, then his was. 

* * *

Afterward, they didn't move for a moment or two. Her body felt worked over and languid, a bit sore, almost sated, but her mind was racing. What to say? What to do? Tentatively, she thought she might put her hand on his chest, but he slung an arm around her shoulders, and she found herself snuggling in the crook of his arm. His eyes were closed, and she imitated him, trying in her turn to find oblivion.

After an eternity, he said, with his eyes still closed, "I shall have to teach you Occlumency. But you aren't to use it with me."

"You're too used to the classroom, Severus," she murmured.


	12. Proposition

Snape didn't say anything in reply, so Hermione was inclined to believe he would broach the topic again, in his usual fashion, when the issue came to a head. She suppressed a groan at the thought.

"We'll go see Dumbledore in a moment," he continued. "He's the keeper of the secrets."

"Yours or everyone's?"

"Both, I rather think."

"Who keeps his?"

Snape opened his eyes and gave her what she used to think of as an unreadable glance but now realized was a quick assessment.

"You ask the right questions," he said after a second, closing his eyes again, "but make certain you want to hear the answers."

Hermione didn't answer. She shivered in his embrace, wondering what he felt for her. Snape tucked her more securely against his side and began sliding his fingers through her hair, which felt good, and comforting.

"It's been a long time for me," he said, apropos of nothing. His words, barely above a whisper, seemed to echo in the little room. "I've been wanting you a long time. Perhaps today has…disappointed you. If you want to stop this now, I'll understand. I'll Obliviate you as painlessly as possible. And I'll never speak of it again."

Hermione's thoughts raced. "I don't want to stop," she said faintly. But how could she trust him? And what did he want her for? If only she could get past that wall of reserve…

The fingers in her hair stilled, then began to gently rub her scalp with more purpose. He turned toward her. She opened her eyes and saw that his were fixed on her.

"I'm going to regret this, but we must go to Dumbledore right away."

"Regret it?"

He rolled back on top of her. "Regret it," he said firmly. And she knew why. "But you must understand one thing." He was still giving her the stare. She jerked her head in acknowledgment. "You might become--exasperated with me. I'm a Slytherin, and I'll always be true to my nature. You know what I mean." He leaned closer. "But whatever may happen between us, I will be there when you need me."

What did that mean?

He rolled off her and began pulling on his clothes. Over his shoulder, he remarked, offhand, "Aren't you getting dressed? If we're to see Dumbledore, we should do it right away."

"So you can have your Unbreakable Vows?" She couldn't help a note of cynicism from creeping into her voice.

"Yes." He drew out the "s". She tossed a mutinous glance over her shoulder at him as she pulled on her knickers. "And by all means, get more of those. They're quite lovely."

She launched herself over the bed, furious. "Let's get one thing straight," she couldn't help spitting out, "if you're going to mock me, or—"

He pulled her up by her shoulders and ground his mouth down on hers. Then he lifted her a bit and put his mouth slightly lower, keeping her suspended in the air, her arms pinned to her sides, making her squirm with outrage and pleasure as he did what he liked. He lifted his head, his lips a color red she didn't often see, his breath coming fast. "I said I liked them," he said with careful enunciation. "Lace would be nice, too. Am I being perfectly clear?"

She nodded desperately. He released her and turned away. Addressing his trousers as he zipped them, he said, "It would please me if you would tuck away your, er, pleasant distractions for the time being and we could take care of this little piece of business."

"All right." She couldn't tell if she should be outraged, happy, or nervous. She pulled on her clothes, glanced in the wardrobe mirror, sighed with exasperation, and pulled her unruly locks into a bun.

"Don't."

She nearly jumped. "What?"

"Don't put it up. I like it down."

"Am I supposed to entertain your every preference?" she bit out.

"I certainly hope so." The tone was so deadpan, Hermione couldn't help but laugh. She dropped her hair and held up her wand for a smoothing charm. Snape took her arm with authority and within moments, they were outside Dumbledore's office.

"Come in," Dumbledore's voice intoned in response to Snape's rapid knock. "Oh, it's you, Severus. What can I do for you?" He smiled at Hermione. "And you, Miss Granger. Always a pleasure. Terrific game for Gryffindor."

What? Oh, right. Quidditch. Bloody game. "It was a brilliant match, sir." She caught Snape rolling his eyes.

"Dumbledore," Snape broke in with little grace, "I need you to witness an Unbreakable Vow."

Dumbledore's expression didn't change, but Hermione felt the force of his penetrating eyes. "Perhaps we'd better speak in private for a moment. Miss Granger, if you don't mind overmuch, would you please step outside for a moment?"

Reluctantly, Hermione headed out the door, which shut with finality behind her. After a moment of fuming, she pressed her ear to its heavy oaken surface. To her surprise, she could make out some sound.

"…all about, Severus?"

"I told you. … Unbreakable Vow." Snape's voice came through too low to register for her.

"May I ask for what?"

Again, the low tone.

"I see." There was a lengthy pause, during which Hermione became suddenly panicky that they might pull open the door and see her. "And have you thought about other…vows?"

Snape's voice was unintelligible, but the urgency of the tone was not.

"You're paying that debt already," Dumbledore said severely. "Now is the time to think of the living."

Snape said something very quietly then and he spoke for a longer time than Hermione expected.

"Are you certain that that is the best way?"

"I'm certain, Dumbledore." That, she heard clearly. "If she agrees."

"Why don't you ask her?"

At that, Hermione backed quickly away from the door and pretended to be engrossed with the wall hangings.

Snape opened the door. "Your acting skills need improving if I'm to teach you Occlumency," he said. When Hermione glared, he seemed to remember himself. "Please come back in." She brushed by him. Dumbledore was still smiling at her paternally.

"Hermione," Snape said, beginning to pace, "I think we should make this a more formal arrangement."

She was baffled. "More formal arrangement?" she parroted.

His words tumbled out. "We can make it a wedding, In secret, of course. No one must know. Except Dumbledore."

She couldn't believe it, especially after the painful awkwardness of just several minutes ago, the aftermath of which her body was still feeling. "You really want to marry me? After—" She broke off, remembering Dumbledore's presence and feeling a furious blush rise from her collar.

Snape cast an anxious glance at Dumbledore. Unwillingly, he started to lower himself to one knee.

"Don't!" Hermione croaked.

He straightened with obvious relief, but took her hand in his. "Hermione. What can I say to persuade you to marry me?"


	13. Chagrin

Snape gritted his teeth. Nothing was going the way the he had planned.

He remembered the early days, when Hermione had just been one of many students passing through his class. Never had he taught a more brilliant student, and never had he regretted it more. That she was Potter's close friend and a Gryffindor to boot made him clench his fists in frustration. What he couldn't have shown her if she had been a Slytherin! No chance of that, though. She fit her House profile all too well and reminded him, uncomfortably, of another Gryffindor from the past.

As the years progressed, he began to notice other things about the plain but clever little witch. He watched her small attempts at vanity—the corrected overbite, the ironed hair—and suppressed many a smirk. They were all alike, these girls, narcissistic little tarts. But then, she surprised him, going no further with improving her appearance and concentrating on Harry, although Snape could tell by her behavior that she neither expected nor wanted anything in return, and on eliminating cruelty and unfairness wherever she found it. He began to feel unwilling respect for her and in response, came down harder than ever on her during class. To his further astonishment, she responded as if to a pleasant challenge, becoming even more adept (if that were possible) at potions, though very little at concealing her feelings from him.

One of his great secrets where Hermione was concerned was how little he had to resort to Legilimency to know her thoughts. Often when he asked to see her eyes, he only wanted a clear view into an open book. At first, he arrogantly put this down to her lack of guile and his greater skill, but over the last two years, he had come to a faltering doubt about that. He saw that she could deceive others when she needed to. He was starting to realize that he understood her so well because, in some ways, they were much alike (though not in others, he would always add ruefully).

He remembered well the time she had come to class in obvious pain, trying to conceal it. He had admired that. And he had not forgotten the lenttempus curse, though she seemed to have done. He was still working out who might have hexed her. In her last year at Hogwarts, he had suffered agonies of guilt over his attraction to her, berating himself for falling for one so young and idealistic. He had been secretly delighted that she asked to work in the laboratory with him after graduation. How perfect! Now he could bully her toward what they both wanted, keeping the upper hand always. But then his conscience had intervened. Most inconvenient. You can't court a former student, Severus. It isn't right. You're too old for her, too jaded, too cynical, too used to living alone and having your own way, and too—let's call a spade a spade, shall we?—cruel. Well, I've had to be. It's saved many a life, not to mention my own. He had resolved to keep his distance from her and push her out of his life, but her little speech on that last day and pierced his defenses, and he had come perilously close to showing her what he felt that day.

Later, when he found out she had obtained the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching position, he was torn between jubilation and rage. How dare she? But then again, how pleasant to have her nearby and eager to please after offending him. He had looked forward to exacting retribution for her little infraction. Then, things had quickly got out of control in his office. He hadn't been able to resist pushing her a little. Had she ever done this? Or this? He had scrupulously kept everything above the neck, but even something as relatively innocent as having her hand kissed seemed to cause her breathing to catch. She wanted him. He didn't have to be a wizard to read it. And the knowledge inflamed him to keep pushing his luck and pushing her, after which he would berate himself and become abrupt with her.

Things had taken a turn for the much worse after she overheard him talking with Minerva, the nosy old hag. Snape had a grudging respect for the Head of Gryffindor, but she irritated him beyond endurance most of the time. Rarely had he been more unpleasantly surprised than when Hermione began chucking everything that wasn't nailed down at him in her classroom that day. He was even more surprised to find himself not retaliating, as was his wont. For this plain young witch, he would swallow his pride, let her rain whatever she might over his head.

He had followed her at a discreet distance when he saw her heading for the Quidditch field the next day. He knew that Draco was under the stands planning some mischief. He had made it his business to keep abreast of Draco's doings now that he had graduated from Hogwarts. Snape harbored a secret platonic fondness for Draco's mother, who had always seemed to trust and defend him in her own cold way. In return, Snape did her whatever favors lay in his power to grant. Currently, he was trying to squelch the more dissolute of Draco's propensities, so as not to give Narcissa further cause for alarm. When Snape strode beneath the stands, he could tell at a glance that Draco was not going to disappoint him. He had Hermione nearly cornered. Naturally, he hadn't attacked her until he had the overwhelming advantage in numbers. Snape had felt black rage, but he tamped it down, kept his mind purposely blank and his feelings at bay. He would allow himself to acknowledge them later. He had saved Hermione without losing face with either Draco or her.

But then, he had very nearly broken everything off after that bloody Quidditch match. He hadn't counted on her objecting to his usual behavior. He had waited in his office the following morning expecting to be humbly thanked for saving her from Draco and to be humbly pliant to whatever more tangible form of thanks he might request. He had not counted on being stood up in his own office. Coming to her tiny flat to exact revenge, he had ended up feeling almost sorry for her. Her rooms were tiny to the point of inducing a wince, though she didn't seem to mind. She looked terrible. Never had he seen her so lacking in vanity or control. Thankfully, she had quickly cleaned up her appearance. But then…what came after…

Snape still couldn't bring himself to think about the happenings of the last two hours. He hadn't been able to stop himself from being brusque and close to harsh. He didn't want some weak, clinging girl—too close to how he saw himself as a youth. He knew it was her first time. Well. He had done what he could to make things as pain-free as possible. He couldn't hold back any more, though. Not for years had he wanted someone the way he wanted this young witch. He could feel the intensity with which she returned his feelings, Merlin knew why. He wasn't going to look a gift Hippogriff in the beak. He had pushed her as far as he dared and then some, trying to give her the upper hand for a change, trying to give her some measure of comfort and affection, though that never came easily to him, and trying to show her just enough of his feelings to keep her satisfied without revealing their depth. He couldn't bring himself to show more. Snape might lie to anyone else, but never himself. He wanted this young witch, both physically (his mind flashed to a mental inventory of the surprisingly lush figure she had been hiding under those loose woolen jerseys) and as a close ally. He hadn't had such an ally for many years, and distrustfully, he wanted to marry her in part to keep her as close as possible so as to keep an eye on her. Dumbledore, apparently, thought his motives might be more pure.

Thank Merlin she hadn't wanted him to go down on one knee and propose with declarations of—here his stomach did a nauseating little twist—undying love! But now he had blurted out what he wanted, and he inwardly writhed waiting for what he knew must be her rejection.


	14. An Arrangement

A silver weasel squirmed through the window, ran to the middle of the room, and sat on its haunches, sniffing the air. "Ministry close to falling," Arthur Weasley's voice came from the Patronus. "Meet at usual place." And the silvery weasel dissolved to mist, then disappeared altogether.

Dumbledore came to his feet and opened the window. "We'll have to take brooms. Except you, of course, Severus. This discussion will have to wait." He pulled two brooms from behind his desk.

Hermione stole a glance at Snape and saw relief pass over his face. Dumbledore tossed her a broom, which she almost dropped from inattention.

"Miss Granger?" Dumbledore gestured toward the window sill.

Hermione shoved her broom through the opening. "_Chameleo_," she heard Dumbledore say before she leaped on her broom.

At first, she dropped with sickening speed toward the stone flags far below. She pulled up hard on the broom, narrowly missed hitting a turret wall, and was gaining altitude when she saw Dumbledore ahead of her, his beard trailing after him, and Snape flying somewhat behind him, his cloak flapping. Leaning hard over the broom handle, she managed to close the distance between herself and the others.

Cold mist condensed to rain on her face. Her hands turned yellow, then blue, then purple with cold, clutching the broom handle. Drops of moisture whipped off her cheeks, nose, and chin. Patches of green and gold land passed beneath her. Above her, the bruised sky balefully shook down its tears of fury. Ahead of her, she saw the cryptic flapping of Snape's cloak and Dumbledore's flowing robes.

After several hours, during which Hermione became more and more convinced that her numb fingers would not hold her to her broom another minute, Dumbledore made an arcing motion with his arm. He and Snape plunged downward toward a large mass of silver and black buildings rising from the tapestry of green rectangles below. Hermione drew in a deep breath and pointed her broom straight downward. She dropped like a lead weight, and London rose up to meet her. Biting back a scream, she cast desperate eyes around her for a glimpse of Dumbledore or Snape. Nothing. Sky, clouds, birds were tumbling by in a jumble. She fell faster and faster still. The Thames was huge beneath her, a brown maw waiting to swallow her. But then black cloth snapped in her face and someone grabbed her broom and pulled up. The broom zigged, then zagged. Hermione saw a large clock face pass within a foot of her cheek.

"Slow down! Go higher!" Snape yelled in her ear.

She raised the broom handle and rose with what felt like lofty slowness above the turrets and towers of the skyscrapers below. Snape's arm intruded into her vision, pointing below. Cautiously, she pointed her broom down at a safer angle and began a more leisurely descent onto Grimmauld Place.

She landed smoothly. Someone grabbed her arm and pulled her inside the house. At once, Molly Weasley's voice rang in her ears: "We were so worried!"

"_Appareo_," Snape's voice said.

Hermione realized that Snape was standing near her, not touching her, regarding Mrs. Weasley with what could only be described as a long-suffering air. As he was the closest person to Hermione, she could only guess that it was he who had pulled her through the doorway. Dumbledore stood a few feet away. The entry was filled with people, all looking anxious. Tonks, Hermione noted, stood close to Lupin, her head bowed, her hair nearly gray with only a tinge of violet at the spiky tips. Harry stood near Ron and Luna. Hermione supposed that Ginny, being her mother's youngest, had been forced upstairs for probably the last time. Hermione flicked a glance upward and saw Ginny's mutinous face above the banister on the landing below. Clearly, the status quo would not hold much longer.

"It's all right, Molly," Dumbledore was saying, "everyone is here now."

"I hope you disguised yourselves. Coming on brooms! Disapparating would have worked better."

"Molly—" Mr. Weasley began.

"We can't Apparate from Hogwarts, Molly, you know that," Dumbledore said patiently. "Brooms were the safest way. We used the Chameleo spell."

"Well, at least there's that—"

"Let's get down to business," Dumbledore said, leading them into the kitchen, where everyone filed around the huge oaken table. A fire crackled on the far end of the room, throwing light but inadequate heat. "Arthur, what's happening at the Ministry?"

All eyes turned to Mr. Weasley, whose face was pale and drawn.

"Everyone must swear an oath of allegiance to Scrimgeour," Mr. Weasley said. "Not to the Ministry, mind you. We all had to take that when we joined. But now he wants an oath on the strongest possible magical terms that we'll be loyal to him and do what he thinks best. Some of us have managed to delay up to now, but the moment is coming to a head."

Shock and muttering went through the listeners.

"There's more," Mr. Weasley said. "Tell them, Severus."

Hermione saw Harry give Snape a look of loathing, which, she noted, Snape returned with interest. Desperately, she threw Harry a warning look, but he ignored her.

"Scrimgeour's been Imperiused," Snape said.

"What?!" Kingsley Shacklebolt exclaimed.

"You heard me."

"How do you know?" Kingsley objected. "There's no real way to tell."

"You've taken that oath, haven't you?" Snape said. When Kingsley didn't answer at once, Snape continued, "I know because the Dark Lord told me and gave a demonstration." No one dared ask what that might have entailed. "The time is getting near. The Ministry will fall soon. What is our plan?"

"Take out Scrimgeour," Harry said promptly.

Snape glared at him, but Dumbledore said, "I don't see that we have a choice. We can't have the whole Ministry staff forced to swear allegiance to Lord Voldemort's tool. We shall have to incapacitate Rufus semi-permanently." He unrolled a large map on the table. "Let's talk about ways and means."

Some time later, as the fretful sun began to set behind the billowing, misting clouds and the room sank into a cheerless darkness, the meeting broke up.

"I'll get some supper going," Mrs. Weasley said.

Snape turned toward the doorway, and Hermione knew what would come next. Thinking quickly, she said, "Professor Snape, I need to discuss a classroom matter with you before you go."

"Can't this wait, Miss Granger?" Snape said, clearly keen to leave before the meal got underway.

"It can't," Hermione said in her best staccato tones.

With a curl of his lip, Snape gave a little half-bow to Mrs. Weasley and followed Hermione up the stairway, ignoring the framed heads of Black family house elves. As they rounded the balustrade, Hermione heard Tonks' voice say, "Please, Remus, you know it doesn't matter to me!" Then a door shut quietly but firmly, and Lupin's voice said something back in a low, urgent tone.

Hermione led Snape to one of the ancient bedrooms on the second floor not far from Tonks and Lupin.

"What is it, then?" Snape said, sounding his most put-upon.

Hermione ignored that. "I want to stay here and have supper with everyone."

"So, do."

"I want you to stay, too."

Snape winced. "Please. Not that."

"What is so terrible about sharing a meal with everyone?"

"And have to see Potter at table? It'll put me off my appetite."

"That can't be your excuse. You've never eaten with the Order even before Harry was a member."

"Believe me, they don't want me about. They suffer my presence."

"How can you say that?"

An idea seemed to occur to Snape. "I'll stay on one condition."

"We can't discuss—that—here," Hermione said warily.

"Oh, I think we can," Snape said, sounding almost merry. "I made a proposal. You haven't responded."

"You don't want to really marry me," Hermione countered. "It's because of something else. You've held some things back."

Snape rocked back on his heels for a second. "I'll make it a different condition, then," he said. "I'll stay and, er, break bread with my oh-so-good friends here if you'll come back to my rooms tonight."

Panic tore through Hermione's veins. "I can't do that! There's classes tomorrow! Anyone would be able to see me in the corridors leaving your rooms!"

"Chameleo," Snape reminded her softly, showing his teeth. Nervously, Hermione made a mental note to tell him about her father, the dentist.

Then she squirmed inwardly. A repeat of this morning's embarrassing performance? She had done and said things that made her want to sink into the floor. He must have laughed to himself afterward! "It can't have been much fun for you," she muttered to some point on the rotting floorboards, feeling heat and sweatiness rise from her neck to her hairline. "You saw I have no experience. You must have laughed about it afterward."

"I didn't laugh. I didn't expect experience, so I wasn't disappointed."

"How can this be something you want to repeat then? You're lonely?" He made a scoffing noise, but she didn't look up. "You want to use me?"

He lowered his voice to the point where she had to lean close to hear him. "I made you--happy--didn't I?" Her blush intensified, in spite of the chill in the room.

"Don't—"

"I'd like to again."

Heat rose within her. "Please stop—"

"I liked it. I want more."

"How could you have? How could that be fun for you? You've much more experience."

"It gives me pleasure to see you. That way."

She grasped for solid understanding. "You don't really like me—"

"I like you very well."

"You want to use me."

"I'll make certain it's mutual."

"This is killing me," she said faintly.

"Hermione, you've watched me with the Order for years now. Have I ever missed a sign or failed to pick up a signal? Have I ever let the Order down in any way? Has anything taken place that I haven't turned to the Order's advantage without letting the Dark Lord know?"

Thinking back, she shook her head.

"If it's any comfort to you, I can serve you the same way. If you let me."

What could this mean? Serve her? Did he mean just in the bedroom or out of it, too? And how far could she trust him?

Before she could further mull things over, he said crisply, "So do we have an agreement or not?"

"Is this just for tonight?"

"We'll start with that."

Start! So he did want more. She almost couldn't believe it. Cautious hope stirred inside her. "Then you'll come back downstairs?"

"Do we have an understanding, then?"

"Y-yes."

He nodded once, curtly, and opened the door. Noises of knives chopping and something bubbling rose from the staircase. Snape descended ahead of her.

"Ah, Molly," Hermione heard him say from the kitchen just before she entered it herself, in time to see Mrs. Weasley turn from her cauldron in consternation. "Is there enough for one more? It's rather late, and Miss Granger's little classroom difficulty has delayed me to the point that having supper here would be an attractive possibility."

Mrs. Weasley turned five shades of red. "Oh, of course, Severus. There's always room for one more."

From the corner of her eye, Hermione caught sight of Harry in the parlor pausing in mid-speech and looking as if he had just learned he would have to retake all seven years of Potions.

"Very kind of you, Molly," Snape said silkily and gave Harry a smile that would have frightened a goblin.


	15. Threats and Promises

For a brief time, I had the unexpurgated lemon up here, but then sanity asserted itself. So this is a (heavily) edited version, though more explicit than the first go. Again, if you're of age, you can view the whole story at hp . adult fan fiction . net. Look for "Tension in the Laboratory."

I may not be able to post as often after this chapter because of schedule changes. Reviews are most welcome.

* * *

At Mrs. Weasley's call, everyone returned to the grim Grimmauld Place kitchen for supper. By some sadistic twist of fate, Snape ended up sitting across from Harry. Scowling, Harry addressed himself to his plate. In that moment, when the green in his eyes wasn't showing, he bore such a striking resemblance to his father that the old reflexive antagonism rose in Snape. No, no. He must swallow those thoughts, or there would be another scene with Hermione, and he didn't favor another go-round with the slugs. What's more, he wanted a grateful Hermione, a willing Hermione, a gaspy, pulsing, little—-enough. Time to earn it. 

He looked down at his own plate. Shepherd's pie, and enough of it to feed half the Seventh Years. He took a bite.

"How is it, Severus?" Mrs. Weasley asked anxiously.

Snape riffled through a mental index of possible replies: "It's lovely, Molly"—-no, he'd choke himself before he'd say that; "Best I ever tasted"—-where was the sick basin?--"Passable, but just"—-only if he wanted the Order looking for rope and a lamppost. No, best to stick to specifics.

"Molly, I might be mistaken, but did you mash all these potatoes by hand?"

Mrs. Weasley pinkened. "You're the first to ever notice! I did! I just think doing it by hand adds something special to the food that the magical methods don't."

"And," Snape continued after another bite, "is that, that can't be, but I think I taste just a hint of—-curry?"

Mrs. Weasley grew excited. "A pinch! I added just a pinch to the lamb! Why, Severus, you're amazing!"

And she twittered away over his head for several more minutes while Snape applied himself to his meal. He could feel Hermione cross and recross her legs under the table. Glancing to his right, he saw her shoot him a look, her pupils dilated. His cock twitched. None of that, he reminded himself. Not yet.

Hermione, for her part, was trying hard to let nothing show on her face. She had winced inwardly when Mrs. Weasley asked Snape's opinion of the food. Not that, Hermione pleaded silently, oh, please, not that. He hates most food. I see him leaving half his dinner untouched every day in the Great Hall. But to her surprise, he had been charming, and she realized with sudden clarity that he was doing it expressly to please her. As soon as the realization hit her, the crotch of her jeans abruptly felt unbearably tight and a rush of wetness made everything sticky there. Surreptitiously, she crossed and recrossed her legs under the table. Ah, Merlin, that wasn't helping at all! Snape's eyes slid her way, then back to his plate, but his expression never changed. Merlin, I hope he didn't notice anything, Hermione thought. She drank half her butterbeer in a long, unbroken swallow.

"How is your scar, Harry?" Kingsley was saying.

Everyone turned to look at Harry.

"Er—the same."

Hermione knew he hated all references to his scar, and that he lied easily and often when asked about it.

"Have you—-seen anything with regard to the Dark Lord?" Kingsley said.

"I might have seen less if I were a better Occlumens, but I haven't seen much," Harry replied.

Hermione felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. Digging her nails into her thighs, she doggedly kept her expression neutral. Don't bait him, Harry, she thought. You know it's like taunting an Acromantula.

But Harry, apparently, was nursing some grudges. "Those lessons you gave me certainly did the trick, Professor," Harry continued, boring in on Snape. "Any more of them and I might as well have handed Voldemort directions here and presented us all on a platter."

Hermione heard her heart hammering in her ears. The table was silent, all eyes on Snape. For once, Snape was not looking smug. He looked at Harry's furious face and seemed to remember something in the snapping green stare. Then he tilted his head up and examined the plaster design in the ceiling of a snake attacking a young couple. At last, he said, without lowering his gaze, "Neither teacher nor pupil was shown to best advantage during those lessons." He glanced around the table at each dumbfounded face, then picked up his fork and took another mouthful.

Hermione blinked. Harry, she noted, seemed stunned. Everyone else began eating with forced cheer, and the tension in the room abated. The crotch of Hermione's jeans got tighter and more uncomfortable, and more sticky wetness filled it. Hermione tightened her muscles there and struggled to keep her face blank.

Conversation flowed desultorily to this and that and at last, Snape said, "Thank you, Molly, for allowing me a spot at your table on such short notice. I must get back to Hogwarts now." He rose, and Hermione knew instinctively not to look at him and not to react. She could feel Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Luna watching her as Snape took his leave. When finally he was through the door, and Dumbledore had followed, Ginny wiped her forehead with a melodramatic hand. "Whew! He's finally gone!"

"Ginevra!" her mother scolded.

"I didn't think he was so bad," Hermione said. "You really shouldn't have jerked his chain, Harry."

"Yeah, well, I expected him to be a lot nastier about it. I was looking forward to a fight. Kind of took the wind out of my sails."

"Great comeback, mate," Ron said. "'Neither teacher nor student was shown to best advantage' and...silence."

"Ron!" Luna admonished. "Hey," she said, addressing herself to Hermione, "we're going to the Quidditch game next weekend. Do you want to join us?"

"Sure!"

Hermione chatted with them for almost a half hour until she felt she could safely take her leave. Ginny was tugging Harry's sleeve, and Ron looked ready to go.

"Thanks for a lovely supper, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said. "I have to get back to Hogwarts to teach tomorrow."

"Are you taking a broom again, Hermione? I think you'd be better Apparating," Mrs. Weasley said.

"I'll take the broom and Apparate," Hermione replied. "Thanks. I'll be careful." She took the broom, said good night to everyone, and went out the door.

As soon as the bolt clicked home, Snape's voice said, "My rooms. Now."

He took her arm and before she could protest, Apparated them to the gates of Hogwarts. The chains around the gates snaked back like vines at Snape's command. He took her arm and authoritatively pulled her through.

"What if someone sees us?" she whispered.

"They won't. Chameleo, right?"

They trudged through the fallen leaves to the castle and made their way inside.

Snape pulled her toward the dungeons, but Hermione pulled toward Gryffindor Tower. "I need some things. And, erm—"

"I'll go with you."

"Er, maybe you'd rather not. I-I really h-have to—" Shower, she thought. Get a change of clothes. Check how I look.

"Let me guess. Hm. What could be so embarrassing you don't want to tell me? It can't be contraception. You don't know the spells or you would have said them in front of me. It can't be clothes. You need those, but you'd have told me without the stammer. So...it must be a shower. There's one of those in my rooms. Get your clothes."

She could argue with him like a teenager, or she could get what needed to be got. Hermione turned and headed toward her little suite, Snape right behind her. At the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, she gave the password: "_Muffliato._ Succulent."

"Yes," said the Fat Lady meaningfully.

They passed through. "I could have blocked that spell," Snape said in her ear. She nearly jumped.

"I won't give you the password, Severus. I don't trust you with it."

"You'll trust me before tonight's out," he said, still low in her ear and just behind her. "I promise you."

A shiver went through her body and came to rest in that spot deep inside her. She turned blindly and made her way to her flat. A few minutes later she had her clothes and toiletries packed inside a purse no bigger than her hand and stuffed in her sock. She looked at him with wide eyes, and he pulled her out the door and back out of the tower, then down toward the dungeons.

"Afraid?" he said, casting a glance over his shoulder as they descended.

"No." She wasn't, though the green light was eerie and the stones and uneven steps reminded her of nothing so much as a torture chamber.

He nodded.

Soon, he was pushing open the wrought-iron and oak door to his rooms.

"_Lumos. Appareo._" Then he added something so quietly she couldn't hear him.

Using his wand for temporarily light, he stoked the fire in the grate until it began to blaze.

"Fire whiskey?" he offered. "I have a large selection. The Slytherins tend to have discriminating tastes."

"Like Slughorn."

"Yes."

"And you."

"Yes."

"I'll—er, have some, er—" she squinted at one of the bottles, which contained a rosy gold liquid.

"That's Constanta 1995. Not many select that."

"Is it bad?"

"No. It's excellent." He poured her a shot glass full, then one for himself. "Cheers." He tossed it back in one swallow, so Hermione followed suit. At once, she felt some of her nervousness ebb away. She clenched the muscles between her thighs again and closed her eyes.

"Like it?" he said.

"Yes."

"The shower is at your disposal. There's just one condition."

"Always a condition?" she dared him.

"When I please," he said and began unbuttoning his robes.

"What's the condition?" she said warily. She did not want him knowing about the wetness again. Her knickers were practically sticking to her.

"That I join you."

Just as she feared. "No."

He allowed a small laugh and went into the bathroom. Once she had followed, he took off his robes completely. "After you."

Hermione gulped. How could he be so casual? She took in his body in small glimpses: wiry arms, surprisingly muscled chest, black hair arrowing down, ah—-skip that part for now—-sinewy legs—-all right, back up a little—-all right, there it is—-

She heard him stifle a laugh again and before she knew it, he was kneeling at her feet. "Let's start with shoes, shall we?"

Off came her trainers, her socks. Still kneeling in front of her, he undid the button and zip on her jeans and pulled them down. Now his mouth was on level with her knickers. She could see the muscles in his shoulders bunching. Her breath caught in her throat and she was torn between lust and shame. "Step out of them," he commanded. She obeyed, trembling.

He moved closer, putting his face right in front of her crotch and hooking his thumbs in the elastic. Then he pulled her forward and inhaled. Hugely embarrassed, she jerked and tried to pull away, but his long fingers were holding her by the buttocks, and she couldn't move. She pushed ineffectually at his long, lank hair.

"Mmm," he said, burying his face in her crotch. "You smell so good."

Everything there became even more congested, and her breath caught in her throat. She felt his thumb pull her knickers to one side. Something wet and warm touched her there, and she clutched his head.

"That's right," he muttered, raising his head. He pulled her knickers further aside and used both thumbs to open her. For a long moment, he just looked, while her heart pounded. Then he lowered his head again. She gave a thready gasp.

"Stop," she said.

He raised his head.

"I," she cleared her throat, "I liked what you said to Mrs. Weasley. And Harry."

She couldn't tear her eyes from his unblinking gaze. "How grateful are you?"

"V-very grateful." She tried to pull back from him, but he pulled her knickers down to her ankles as she stepped back. She found herself stepping out of them. Snape came to his feet. Now he loomed over her.

"Take off the jersey."

She pulled it over her head, revealing the blouse beneath.

"Take off that, too."

She unbuttoned it with fumbling fingers and let it slide to the floor. Now she had on just her bra. Before he could order her to, she unhooked it and let it fall.

Then, though she felt weak and her heart was hammering, she slowly sank to her knees in front of him. Now their positions were reversed. A small smile of pleasure played over Snape's face. He leaned back against the black tile wall.

After a moment, Hermione reached out and ran a tentative hand along the length of him. It looked thick. Would it even fit in her mouth? She started to lean forward, hesitated, then formed her lips in an O and lowered them around just the tip. A strangled noise came from somewhere over her head. She crammed a bit more into her mouth.

"Mind the teeth," he said quietly. She chanced a peek upward and saw his eyes were still closed, a most unusual sight, and the severe features were softer.

She opened her mouth a bit wider and lowered it.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've done this before."

Infuriating man. She pulled her mouth up, wringing another small noise from him. "You don't want to insult me when you're in this position, Severus," she reminded him.

She heard his reluctant chuckle. "You've made your position—-quite clear. Continue. Please."

Hermione again opened her mouth and lowered it. She wasn't sure how to proceed now. She silently berated herself for not taking advantage of her access to the Hogwarts library restricted stacks.

He began to tell her in a gravelly voice she had never heard before how to please him. It almost sounded as if he were pleading. At last, he made a strangled noise and pushed her away.

She looked up at him in hurt confusion. Hadn't she done it right?

"Your turn," he said, opening his eyes. He took her in with a glance as he pulled her to her feet. "In the bedroom. Now." He propelled her forward. She lost her balance as they reached the black-swathed four-poster, and she tumbled over the rail of the footboard, her hips in the air, the balls of her feet barely touching the floor, her face in the counterpane.

He made a murmur of appreciation. She tried to raise herself up, somehow to get away from this exposed position. Then she felt his tongue again. She gave a small cry.

The stroking stopped, to be replaced by something thicker. A low moan tore out of her.

"Couldn't let you touch me another second," he said from behind her. And he pushed the rest inside her. She couldn't stop herself from making an animalistic grunt that sounded almost like a noise of pain. At once, he was out of her.

"Hermione, did I hurt you?" he said in her ear. The note of real concern surprised her.

"No. No. Don't stop. Don't stop!"

"I live to serve," he said, or at least, that's what she thought he said. The thickness was back inside her.

"Tell me what you want," he said.

"More! More!"

"Like this?"

Hermione couldn't speak.

"Or like this?"

She couldn't take it another minute. Her hips surged forward. He followed her, keeping himself deeply embedded as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her.

When her cries began to subside, he began moving inside her with single-minded purpose. She couldn't prevent it. She crammed the counterpane into her mouth to stop him from hearing those mortifying noises, but he spread leaned over her and said in dangerous tones, "Let me hear it or you'll regret it." The threat inflamed her. She gave a small scream. She heard him make that same small sound and knew he had reached completion, too.

After a long moment, he helped her over the rail, where they sprawled on the bed.

Hermione stroked his face. She could feel his fingers threading through her hair.

"I liked Molly's dinner," he said after long moments. "It reminded me of my mother's cooking."

Hermione's hand stilled, then picked up again. She had never heard Snape refer to his family to anyone else before. She sensed that any word from her and he would stop, so she continued to gently trace his features and run her fingertips along his hairline.

"She wasn't much of a cook. Most of the time I could barely choke down her food. But on nights my father wasn't home, she could make a decent shepherd's pie. Not as good as Molly's. But still..."

Hermione lightly touched the stubble along his cheek.

To her great surprise, he took her hand and brought it to his lips without opening his eyes.

"Dear Hermione." She felt a rush of affection and protection toward him such as she had never had before. "Now. About our earlier business. What's your answer?" And she suddenly found herself eye to eye with that familiar black-eyed challenging stare.


	16. Rethinking the Arrangement

Hermione sputtered and pulled away. "You waited until Dumbledore was gone, until you had me like this, to press your advantage!" 

"Hermione," Snape said with ill-concealed condescension, withdrawing his arm, "you seem like a reasonable girl. We can't go on long like this. The Chameleo charm works, but do you really think we'll escape detection over a period of weeks, much less months?"

"I don't know that we'll last weeks, much less months," Hermione muttered to the wall. "Besides," her volume picked up, "you told me just the other day that you only wanted to be lovers, and you wanted even that to be secret!"

"I've—changed my mind."

"Thank you for the notification," she shouted.

Snape, in alarm, slapped a hand over her mouth. "We are right next to the Slytherin dormitory, if you please," he rasped at her, eyes snapping.

Glaring, she waited until he removed his hand. Then she rolled off the bed and began dressing.

"Hermione."

She gave him a narrow stare over her shoulder and continued dressing.

"Hermione." Less a command, more like a plea now. She had never heard him sound like that before. She smoothed down the jersey and slowly turned around. Snape was kneeling on the bed, his hands twisted together. "I have—" he cleared his throat, "changed my mind. I want to, make it hard for you to—" Here he broke off and couldn't seem to finish.

She knew what was coming next. Or, at least, she thought she did. "To leave you."

The words hung in the air. Snape could only stare at her.

"You don't want me to go."

"If you stay," he said quietly, "I run the risk of your being used by the Dark Lord as a lever over me. And over Potter, of course."

"And if I go?"

Snape looked down at his hands. "I would much rather you stayed."

"But what will happen to your Patronus?" Hermione said delicately.

Snape seemed surprised. "I don't know," he said at last. "Does it matter?"

Hermione considered. This was not exactly the declaration of undying love she had hoped she might someday hear. It was, however, far more interesting than the awkward, sloppy confessions she once expected to have to extract, painfully, from Ron. And on the whole, it was much more interesting. Her flagging spirits revived.

"I guess not. But, er, how will this work?"

"We can have a small, private ceremony in Dumbledore's office," he said briskly. "I prefer no other witnesses or guests. I'll put it about Slytherin House that I'm using you, as I said before—"

"You seem to have this well planned out," Hermione observed.

He gave her a sidelong look before pulling her back onto the bed. Stiffly, she allowed him to encircle her with his arms. "Hermione," he said in her ear, "you may doubt some things, but never doubt this." What this was, he left unsaid. But the hardness pressed against her spoke for itself.

Some time later, she rolled out of bed again and began putting on the rest of her clothes. Snape appeared to be dozing, half tangled in the black counterpane. But as she tugged on her trainers, he remarked, "No confiding in girlfriends. No schoolgirl confessions. Let's keep this as secret as we can."

Hermione yanked on the second shoe. "Don't worry, Severus," she said reasonably. "It won't be secret once it's done." She twitched her wand. "_Chameleo_."

Hermione was leaving her classroom at the end of the day when she ran into Ginny.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione couldn't help saying.

Ginny grinned. "I thought you might want to go out to dinner in Hogsmeade."

"Shouldn't you be visiting Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, he's busy at Gringott's tonight. Important security measures. I haven't chatted with you for a while. I thought you might be tired of Hogwarts food."

Suddenly, Hermione realized how hungry she was. "They'll expect me in the Great Hall," she said. "But I guess, just once—"

In no time, they were off the Hogwarts grounds in Hogsmeade and walking through the door of The Hog's Head. The bartender nodded curtly to them as they stepped in and slid into a booth. Soon, Hermione had drunk half her butterbeer and was making inroads into a steaming stew.

"So how are things with Snape?" Ginny asked.

Hermione chewed a bit more slowly, considering what and how much to say. "It's over," she said finally. "We've broken it off."

Ginny looked relieved. "That's good. I was afraid he might be using you."

Her words went through Hermione like cold steel.

"You're sure that everything's—all right—now, right?" Ginny said, leaning across the table.

"Er, what do you mean?"

"All right. _You_ know. You said the," Ginny's voice dropped to a whisper, "contraceptive spells?"

"I, er," this was a bit more than Hermione wanted Ginny to know about. "He mentioned something about them. He said them." Hermione was uncomfortably aware that she hadn't doublechecked about this key item of information.

"You've gotten it, then?" Ginny said, still keeping her voice down. No need to ask what "it" was.

"Not yet. It'll come soon."

Ginny frowned. "You should make sure that everything's all right. Even if Snape did say spells—and who knows if he did?—it's probably been a long time for him. Those spells change. He might have been saying an old one."

"Are you saying he's been celibate so long he doesn't know how to use contraception?"

"Well," Ginny said, "I don't like to think of him needing contraception at all, but yes."

"Come on, Ginny, he's probably, er, been with plenty of Slytherin girls."

"Like who?"

"Well, I don't know. Girls older than us."

"All magical people come through Hogwarts. It's a small world. We'd have heard of someone, right?"

"I don't know," Hermione said, squirming. "Some Death Eaters, I expect. We wouldn't have heard."

Ginny snorted. "Name one likely girl."

"I don't know!" Hermione said hotly. "Someone! For all we know, he's buggered Beatrix Lestrange!" Then she clapped her hand over her mouth, appalled at her language.

Ginny who was taking another sip of butterbeer, snorted and got the butterbeer up her nose, and the two of them began laughing so hard that Hermione wasn't sure she could stop.

"Right. Right," Ginny said as the laughter began to taper off.

But a chill went up Hermione's spine and for some reason, she stopped laughing.


	17. Draco's Prank

Hermione spent the next several days devising a syllabus for each year's instruction in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Being academically gifted, these tasks came easily to her. But it began to occur to her that as much as she might enjoy teaching and excel at its various skills, she craved something else, a more immediate connection with a fight for justice.

While she went about her days teaching and developing a better structure for a class that had never had a long-term instructor, she did not talk to Snape. Their conversation about marriage seemed unreal, and she wondered from time to time if it had ever happened. Snape was aloof during meals when they both sat at the Head Table, where they generally were seated on opposite sides of Dumbledore. Hermione watched Snape's expression during mealtimes. She was getting better at reading him. She was prepared to find him mean-spirited and unfair, but of late, he said and did very little. During Dumbledore's speeches, he maintained an expression of ominous patience that made the First Years tremble visibly.

One morning, Hermione sat at the Head Table scanning the _Daily Prophet_, as she did every morning, looking for signs of Voldemort's work. Late autumn was sinking into winter. Dawn came late and reluctantly, and dusk fell early with enthusiasm. Sunlight, when it pierced the gray mist that seemed to overlay the grounds, cast tepid light. Hermione crunched her toast and sipped strong tea, reading every word of every article. At some point, she began counting how many times "loyalty" and "oath" appeared.

"Hermione." Hermione started. It was McGonagall, standing in front of her looking sternly maternal. "You seem to have found something useful in that disgraceful rag."

Hermione folded the paper and began stacking her books and notes together. "Fifty-five instances of the word 'loyalty,' 35 of 'oath'," she replied. "They're on everyone's mind at the _Prophet_, even if it's not stated outright." She pushed back her high-backed oaken chair and began walking around the Head Table.

"Come with me," McGonagall commanded. She waved her wand in a large circle over her and Hermione's heads and immediately, all noise around them ceased, and they spoke as if they were the only ones in the world, although the people moving around them seemed to hear each other.

"Did you hear about the Muggles?" McGonagall said, as she and Hermione began marching smartly down the corridors.

"What about them?" Hermione silently berated herself for not getting her owl to pick up some discarded copy of a Muggle newspaper.

"Three dead at King's Cross station. The Muggle media says a drug deal gone wrong, but the bodies had no marks on them. It reeks of You-Know-Who."

They both shuddered. "Be on your guard, dear," McGonagall said. "He is coming. Soon. Teach your pupils well. And—" McGonagall glanced around quickly, "do look out for Severus. None of us really knows where his loyalties lie."

Overwhelmed with gratitude and fondness, Hermione could only nod. McGonagall reached out as if to pat her cheek, but at the last second, pulled her hand back. She swung her wand as before, and normal sound returned. Then she abruptly morphed into a tabby cat and sprang back up the corridor the way she had come, weaving in and out between the students' legs.

Hermione began to descend into the dungeons. Today she had decided the Fourth Years, and even precocious Third Years, should learn how to cast a Patronus. She had captured a boggart for the purpose. This particular boggart seemed to have had a reaction to having seen a real Dementor and now only transformed itself into a Dementor. Hermione reflected a little sadly that the boggart was probably not long for the world. However, it was crucial to teach as many witches and wizards as possible to cast a Patronus, and do it soon, so Hermione tempered her sympathy for the boggart. The mists around Hogwarts seemed thicker than they ever had before, and Hermione was beginning to wonder if they represented more than just fog.

She got through the first couple of periods without incidence. But then came the Fourth Years. Hermione delivered a lecture she thought might rival Lupin's and began the lab part of the class. Each student tried to conjure up a Patronus. One or two had some silver threads spurt from their wands after several tries, but not more.

Feeling bored, Hermione summoned the next student, a spotty, gangly youth of Algerian extraction, to try his hand at it. The student braced himself, trying to conceal his trembling lower lip, as Hermione opened the cabinet where the boggart was stored. Rather than watch the student, Hermione glanced at the clock. It read "on alert". But then the hand began spinning wildly around and around. Hermione became aware that nothing was happening behind her. She heard the student whimpering. Impatience surged through her.

"Oi, Ahmed, you can do better than…tha…" She spun around. The boggart was still in the cabinet. She could hear it quivering. But from the open window drifted an opaque shape, scabby hands reaching. A low moaning filled the room. Hermione felt all happiness and hope draining from her. She knew well the soul-sucking power of the Dementor. She forced herself to concentrate on a happy memory—those moments when she felt sure of Snape's intentions—raised her wand and said with cool authority, "_Expecto Patronus!"_

The otter streamed out of her wand and swam playfully in the air before the Dementor, which floated back out the window. Hermione rushed after it. The windows were set high in the walls, like prison cell windows. Hermione slashed her wand in the air. "_Elevato!"_ Up she flew, where she grasped the wrought iron window sash, turned the clasp shaped like a fanged snake, and pushed hard. The window heaved open, and wind roared in. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and pushed her face closer to the opening.

Though she and the class were in the dungeons, the ground dropped off steeply below. Looking down, Hermione saw Draco Malfoy standing on the green, wand raised, a smirk on his face, watching her. He flicked his wand. Hermione flinched instinctively, and the curse zinged past her ear. Without thinking, she pointed her wand back at him, aiming just to his left, then again, to his right. Draco made as if to dodge right to elude the first hex, but something invisible jerked him backward. He stumbled, regaining his footing with a threatening glare. Hermione barely had time to note the livid blotchiness of his face and something underneath the disdain—desperation?—before a red jet of light shot at her. She ducked this time, and the hex flew through the window to hit the far wall in a shower of sparks.

Hermione hurled another hex. But again, something seemed to pull Draco out of harm's way. Cold fear washed over Hermione. What was out there? Nothing except Harry's cloak could confer that kind of invisibility. Or could it? She jabbed her wand 12 times through the window, sending a battery of curses in a circle around Draco. The red light flared in angry wheals through the sullen air. Dimly, she was aware of shouting on the green. People were coming. To her astonishment, several of the hexes found their mark. An explosion rocked the air. Hermione toppled to the floor, as did all the students in her classroom, with screams and cries.

In the confusion that followed, Hermione tried to regain her feet. She could not think properly. Her head felt muzzy and confused. She could hear a low rumble of incantations outside, but could not recognize the voices.

"I have a message," hissed a cold voice in her ear. Hermione jerked her head around, but no one was there. "You can't see me, and neither can they, but I have a message all the same. You will give me access to this classroom, or you will go the way of the other Dark Arts teachers or worse. Think of what I say. I shall be back tomorrow. Do not tell anyone else of what I say. If you do, you will trigger an Avada Kedavra."

Hermione swung up her wand in what she realized belated was a drunken angle. She heard malicious laughter, and then nothing.

"_E-elevato!"_ Hermione managed to say, and flew up to the window again.

On the green she spied the Heads of Houses waving their wands and saying spells. Snape's face was unreadable, but everyone else's expressions were set in lines of grim resolve.

"Hermione!" The voice came from a young man with tousled hair and a bright red lightening bolt on his forehead. "There she is! At the window!"

"What's brought you here, Potter?" she heard Snape say spitefully. "Tired of being out of the spotlight now that you've graduated?"

Hermione lowered herself from the high window back to standing on the floor. The students were getting to their feet. "Are you all right, Miss Granger?" one of them, a tall Fourth Year, said.

"I'm quite all right," she snapped, hoping she sounded offended. She felt decidedly ill. "Class dismissed. Please return to your Houses."

"You don't look well, miss," the Fourth Year persisted.

Hermione gritted her teeth. If she stood there much longer, she was going to lose breakfast or consciousness, and she certainly didn't want some spotty Fourth Year to witness it. "Please attend to my instructions, Chapman, or I'll dock points from Hufflepuff."

Chapman reluctantly gathered his books like the others and left the classroom. Hermione could hear the sound of many adult footsteps coming toward her.

Dumbledore was first through the door, followed closely by the Heads of House and Harry.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, "what exactly has happened?"

"Nothing," she managed. "Some prank of Draco Malfoy's."

She saw Snape look at her quizzically, then whisper something in Dumbledore's ear. Dumbledore nodded. "Please follow Professor Snape to his office and take whatever health measures he advises. Harry, please come with me."

Harry looked momentarily furious, but spun on his heel to follow Dumbledore. "Thanks, Harry," Hermione croaked in his direction.

Harry threw a rueful glance over his shoulder before leaving.

As McGonagall, Flitwick, and Slughorn chatted briefly, Snape said to Hermione in coldly formal tones, "Follow me, please, Miss Granger."

Hermione, swaying slightly, began following him.

"Severus," McGonagall said sternly, "she's in no condition to be walking around."

Snape took another close look at Hermione. "My mistake, Minerva," he said a bit too smoothly. "_Mobilicorpus."_

To her humiliation, Hermione rose several inches in the air and began moving out of the room, following Snape's wand. After a few moments, the relief of not having to expend energy made her relax, and she allowed herself to be led to Snape's nearby office.

Once inside, Snape slammed the door. He looked angrier than she had seen him in quite some time. He grabbed Hermione by the upper arms, pulled her close, then cupped her face in his hands and tilted it upward. "Look up," he commanded. She did. "Look left. Now right. Now look at me." Hermione bit her lip, but met his eye, which now held only professional interest. He pulled out his wand, keeping one hand on the side of her face, and began saying spells that Hermione had never heard before. After one of them, Hermione's head suddenly felt better and the nausea lifted.

"Put me down, please," she said.

Snape threw her one of his inscrutable looks and continued to saying spells for a few more minutes. When he was done, he lowered her to the floor and put away his wand.

"Now," he said in a voice that wasn't going to take no for an answer, "what did He say to you?"

"I can't— And how do you know it was, was—"

"Call it experience," he said grimly. "I've removed the conditional Avada Kedavra. Now tell me what he said!"

"He—" she swallowed, "wants access to my class."

Snape exhaled and tightened his jaw.

"I'm to give him my answer tomorrow, or suffer the consequences. I don't care! I'll never give him access!"

Snape paced in front of her. He shot her a look of impatience. "What about me?" he said finally.

"W-what about you?"

"What about giving me access to the class?"

Anger bubbled up inside Hermione. "This is what you've wanted for years! It's just as McGonagall said! You want to use me to get what you wa—"

He closed the distance between them in three strides, pulled her close, and crushed his mouth down on hers. She was enveloped by his cloak, his arms holding her so tightly to his chest she could barely breath, his mouth moving up to kiss her forehead and hair. He was breathing hard. "Don't let me lose you, too," she thought she heard him say into her hair, and then he was kissing her again.


	18. Snape Plays the Gentleman

Snape pulled himself away abruptly and turned from her. Dazed, Hermione stood without moving for a second, then slowly turned toward the door, which seemed very far away. She still felt ill, though not in immediate danger of a visit to chunderville. She needed to get back to her flat, consider what she would say tomorrow, do something about this dizziness, and here was not the place. She wished Snape would stay with her in her bedroom—she shook herself mentally. What was she thinking? This was Severus Snape she was imagining. He would never do that. Shag her, yes. But comfort her? If she wanted to stay with Snape, she would have to get a dog.

"I'll see you to your rooms," he tossed over his shoulder as he gathered some books. Hermione nearly jumped at the sound of his voice. What was that he'd said? He would see her to her rooms? Well, that was more than she'd expected of him. Really, it was good of him. She shuffled to the door and leaned unobtrusively against it while she waited for him. Silently, she began to review the happenings of the past hour.

Snape approached her with an armload of books. "You didn't want me to cast another Mobilicorpus spell, did you?" he said with mild derision.

Hermione didn't think her already fragile state could withstand another of such remarks. "No," she said clearly and moved as quickly as possible out the door. Now she was faced with the long corridors back to Gryffindor Tower. Her vision seemed to constrict to a tunnel.

She felt Snape's hand at her elbow. "You don't have to go all the way back to Gryffindor Tower, you know," he said in carefully neutral tones.

She turned her head and blinked at him. Now his face was in the center of her limited field of vision. "What?"

He sighed. "You've been going through the portrait hole, like a student, to get to your rooms. You don't have to do that. Surely you've noticed Minerva, me, the other faculty, getting to their rooms in the usual fashion?"

Hermione twisted her elbow out of his grasp. The corridor spun around her for a split second, but she ignored the sensation. The man was lecturing her on the best route to her flat? "I'll go to my rooms any way I like, and I don't need help to get there," she returned in a frustratingly soft, flat voice.

He seemed about to say something, then shut his thin lips, tightened his jaw, and took her elbow again. "Come with me."

Hermione wanted to shove some words in his face, words like why, what for, or no, but she had no stomach for a scene in the hallway, so reluctantly, she walked with him, though at a slow pace. Snape made no comment.

When they reached the point where Hermione normally turned right, Snape gently pulled her elbow left. "This way."

Hermione sensed that her energy would not last much longer. If Snape were wrong about how to get to her rooms, she would have to ask him to wait so she could rest. She could just imagine how joyful he would be at that prospect. On the other hand, presumably his many years at Hogwarts performing Merlin knows what kind of Dark Magic with the Future Death Eaters Club of Great Britain gave him some rough idea of how the place was laid out—Hermione stifled hysterical laughter. If I laugh, I won't be able to go on, she thought. No laughing.

She trundled after him, her pace flagging.

"Here it is," he said. His voice seemed to be coming from a distance.

She fumbled for her wand and raised it. "_Alohomora._" The door opened. Snape stood back, and Hermione entered her flat.

She fully expected to turn around and bid him good-bye, but when she turned, she nearly collided with him. He had entered her rooms. He flicked his wand at the door, and it closed smartly.

"Now," he said, pulling her toward the bedroom, "let's get you settled."

Settled? Oh. Right. He was going to get her settled in bed and be off. Guilty conscience, maybe. "I can get myself settled," she said stiffly, pulling her arm away (again, the whirling sensation). "Classes are still on for the rest of the day. You'll need to be getting back. Please tell Dumbledore I'll return to class tomorrow."

"Hermione," he said, bending down to get his face level with hers, his eyes opaquely black and hard to read, "do you really think I'm going to leave you at your threshold?"

"Yes."

He mouth tightened as he straightened up. "I thought you saw the good in me," he said with grim humor, taking the three strides necessary to get into the bedroom and pulling her with him. He turned down the bed and stood back.

"I can't get into bed. It's not noon yet. I have to think about what I'm to say tomorrow," she protested.

"We'll talk about that later," Snape said. "Bed. Now."

Hermione shot him what she hoped was a furious look before pulling off her sensible low-heeled shoes, sliding under the sheets, and laying her head on the pillow. Once there, she felt slumber's heavy arms begin to try to drag her down. She must have hit her head harder than she thought. Snape approached her and extended his index finger toward her temple. Hermione hoped he wasn't going to touch her there. She tried to move her head away just as he pulled his hand back. "I'll return after classes," he said.

Hermione nodded as her eyes closed. She heard Snape move through her little flat and open the door, where his footfalls stopped.

"…like to see her, if you please, Severus," she thought she heard McGonagall's voice say.

"I rather think not," Snape said in his most abrasively gloating tones. Hermione tried to concentrate. If only she had some extendible ears now! "Mild concussion, I should say. ...appropriate charms have been... Entertaining won't be high on …calendar…"

"All the same—"

"Minerva,…seen her to her rooms…asleep already…"

After a brief silence, the door closed, and all was quiet.

* * *

Hermione heard the clink of a cup hitting a saucer. She opened her eyes. Her lamp was on. Severus Snape was sitting by her bed, drinking a cup of tea balanced precariously on her bedside table as he pored over an ancient volume on his lap. 

He looked up at once. "Ah," he said, and closed the book. "How are you feeling?" Hermione could tell by the way he said the words that he didn't say them often.

"Much better, thanks." It was a partial lie, but she wanted to think about tomorrow before it was too late.

"Good. About tomorrow--"

Hermione sat up, ignoring the various pains and discomforts. "I've been thinking about that. You're going to know the best way to approach Him."

"Yes," he said dryly. "Here is what you shall say. Tell him you'll never give him any access to your class, that the only person you'd dream of allowing to teach the Dark Arts to the students of Hogwarts is Severus Snape, and that I've turned you down."

Hermione nodded slowly, and she saw some tension leave Snape's body. He sat back and took another sip of tea. "Hungry?" he said lightly.

To her surprise, she was.

"Then let's go to the Great Hall. They'll be glad to see you."

"You're going to walk me to the Great Hall?"

He set his cup and saucer aside. "I'll try to look as though it's a trial to me."

She almost asked if it was, but thought better of it. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, hiking up her modest skirt in the process. As she tried to tug it back down, Snape rose and loomed over her. "It's my intention to walk you back as well."

The words hung in the air. It was almost as if he were giving her the chance to object. But the thought of having his arms around her, even if all he were capable of giving were the sex act, was too strong a temptation to resist. She looked up at him. Maybe he could read her thoughts.

"We should go now," he said in a low voice. She guessed he had only read what he wanted to see.

She stood up, again ignoring the complaints of various body parts, put on her shoes, and walked beside him out the door and to the Great Hall.


	19. Hermione Learns the Truth

When Hermione and Snape entered the Great Hall, dinner was already underway. Only one seat was unoccupied at the Head Table—Snape's. Harry sat in Hermione's usual spot on the side of the table to Dumbledore's right. He raised his tousled head and smiled encouragingly at her when she made her appearance. But an unexpected face looked up from the left side of the table. Igor Karkaroff also smiled at her, his yellowed teeth showing above his neat, gray goatee, and his eyes cold.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, rising. "A pleasure to have you with us so soon. We'll get another place set for you."

At once, to Hermione's dismay, house-elves began scurrying about setting out a place for her next to Snape. Hermione began trying to snatch the china and cutlery from them as they dodged her, intent on their tasks. "Please…really, I can do it myself…Jinky, really…give me the—really—"

Snape clasped his hands in front of him and observed the proceedings as though he were sitting in on a dull lecture.

At last, despite Hermione's best efforts, the house-elves had her place ready.

Dumbledore, with a flourish, gestured for her to be seated. Hermione noted with shock that his hand seemed to be black and withered. The meal resumed.

"So nice to meet again, Miss Granger," Karkaroff said. "I understand you are teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

Hermione was uncomfortably aware of Snape on her opposite side giving his full attention to her, without seeming to.

"Yes. What brings you to Hogwarts, Headmaster Karkaroff?"

Karkaroff smiled arrogantly at the mention of his title. "Prat," thought Hermione, smiling humbly. "He thinks it's his due."

"I am here on unexpected business," Karkaroff replied unctuously. "So strange that it coincides with your—unfortunate experience." Here he smiled at her again, and again she couldn't help but notice the almost tusk-like appearance of his teeth and the lack of warmth in his eyes. Still smiling in her direction, and evidently ignoring Snape's interest, Karkaroff stretched out his arm toward his stein of butterbeer, which pulled back his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark on his arm. He glanced at the Mark, then at her, and his smile grew wider.

A jolt of alarm shot through Hermione, but she smiled back gamely and took a sip of her own butterbeer. She felt Snape's foot cover hers and apply light pressure. She didn't need reminding to watch her step. She gave Karkaroff her most unassuming smile. "It's a pleasure to see you under any circumstance, Headmaster." She nearly gagged saying the words, but the butterbeer fortified her. Snape's foot eased off hers, and she took a forkful of roast chicken.

The rest of the meal passed unremarkably. When the pudding dishes were cleared and everyone began to stand up, Snape said in tones that suggested she hadn't picked up much since First Year, "Miss Granger, I need to discuss some matters in your lesson plan for tomorrow. I don't think you have adequately grasped the basic concepts of the Dark Arts."

Karkaroff smiled a small, cruel smile into his goatee. Hermione saw Harry looking furious.

Hermione paused. Now she had the choice of looking as though she were knuckling under to Snape, or making a small scene and stymieing his true intent. She threw Harry a pleading look and said mildly to Snape, "I'd be interested in anything you have to say, Professor Snape."

Snape tilted his chin back and regarded her from down his nose. "Then I'll escort you back to the classroom," he said, sounding as though even this bit of reluctant chivalry was a chore.

They headed toward the dungeons, passing torches in wrought-iron sconces on the rough stone walls as they descended. Hermione felt her spirits droop. She would have vastly preferred going to her rooms. Just as she was on the verge of saying so, Snape began speaking in a very low tone. "Whatever happens, keep your mind blank and do whatever I say." His voice dropped even further, but Hermione thought he added, "And please God, let's hope you've more aptitude for Occlumency than Potter."

They continued their descent. Every one of Hermione's nerves felt preternaturally alert. Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind them. Snape halted and turned. Karkaroff stepped into the torchlight.

"Severus."

Snape nodded once.

Karkaroff jerked his head at Hermione. "We can't talk here."

"We can," Snape said. He made a sweeping gesture with his hand in front of Hermione's eyes. "Don't worry, Igor. She's Imperiused."

Karkaroff looked frankly distrustful. "Imperiused? You, Severus? You seem to be saving many people of late, not offering them up to the Dark Lord. If she is Imperiused, prove it."

"Very well," Snape sounded bored. "Miss Granger! Curtsy to the ground at my foot and tell me that I am your lord and master and that you will do whatever I say."

Hermione schooled her features into what she hoped was a befuddled expression. Clumsily, she sank into a deep curtsy just over Snape's feet, keeping her face cast downward, and said in her most subservient voice, "Professor Snape, you are my lord and master, and I will do whatever you say."

After a second of silence, Snape said, "You may rise now, Miss Granger."

"That proves nothing!" Karkaroff hissed. "Tell her to do something else. Perhaps—" Hermione glanced up and saw him leering at her—"there is something she can do for me."

"This is not a circus act, Igor, and I am not your pimp," Snape said, still in bored tones. "You will see and believe tomorrow, with the Dark Lord."

Something twitched in Karkaroff's jaw, and his smile again did not reach his eyes. "See that it does, Severus. I bring you this message. See that it does." And he pushed past them deeper into the dungeons.

When his retreating form had disappeared into the darkness, Snape took Hermione's arm and pulled her into her classroom. He pushed open the door, they entered, and he swung the heavy door shut. "_Lumos,_" he said, and the glittering wandlight threw his thin face in high relief. "Now listen to me. We have to stay here for some minutes, in case Karkaroff is watching. Let's have a little chat. Tomorrow you will say what I told you to say. Nothing more, nothing less."

Hermione ground her teeth at his high-handed manner. "The Dark Lord will never accept that," she said. Then understanding dawned on her. "You know that. You think he'll force the class to become his—that he'll take over Hogwarts! But Dumbledore would never allow it!"

"Clever girl," Snape said. "But he's counting on me to kill Dumbledore."

Hermione gasped. "You wouldn't!"

Snape gave her a pitying look. "His days are numbered, Hermione. Have you seen his right hand lately?" Hermione could only stare at him. Snape now met her gaze squarely. His eyes were glimmering in the wandlight. "Dumbledore is dying." Hermione felt her throat constrict. "He knows it." His mouth tightened and he added grimly, "It's already arranged between us."

A tear slid down Hermione's cheek. Snape watched its path before reaching out with an ink-stained, rough thumb and brushing it away. His thumb lingered on her cheek before he withdrew his hand.

"You wouldn't kill him," Hermione said thickly.

Snape gave her a fathomless stare. Then he said, "The Dark Lord thinks this is his moment. He has the Ministry in all but name. He has an army of Death Eaters. He thinks he has me. But he has miscalculated. Dumbledore isn't ready to die. The Dark Lord isn't at full strength yet, though He doesn't think we know that. And he doesn't know my true allegiance."

"And we have Harry," Hermione stated.

"Potter?" Snape loaded the name with contempt. "He's a target, not a weapon."

"He's beaten You-Know-Who many times. …And it wasn't just luck!" Hermione added, in response to Snape's skeptically raised eyebrow.

"Arrogant little git," Snape muttered. "Big Quidditch hero—"

Hermione looked at the man before her, sunk in bitter memories, and a wave of pity swept over her. She put both her hands around one of his. "Harry's father must have been awful to you," she said quietly. "But Harry's nothing like that. He's never bragged about Quidditch. And he's always kind to other people."

Snape clenched his hand in hers. Hermione could feel it tremble.

"They say he has his mother's eyes," she said after a pause.

The trembling stopped.

"I misspoke," Snape said flatly, not looking up. Hermione guessed this was as near to an apology as she was likely to hear on the subject, for now, at least. "I have already talked to Dumbledore while you were resting. We will fight the Dark Lord tomorrow. But don't be surprised if I appear to be—playing both sides."

Hermione squeezed his hand. Snape looked at her then. He reached out and pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, and she felt his long fingers on her throat, then in her hair. "Let me take you back to your rooms," he said.

He turned, still holding her hand in his, and pulled her out of the room. Once he stepped beyond the doorway, he dropped her hand and made a formal gesture to her to step into the corridor. They proceeded to her flat without speaking. When she opened her door, Snape said in a put-upon voice, "Yes, Miss Granger, I'll see you inside."

But once the door clicked behind them, he put his arm around her neck and pulled her to him in a gruff embrace. Her head was nestled under his, her body pressed to his from the thighs up. She thought she felt his lips on her hair. Before she could put her arms around him, he pushed her gently away from him and said, "Sit down."

Hermione put her hands on her hips at his autocratic tone.

"Sit. Down. Was I unclear?"

Very reluctantly, Hermione eased herself onto the couch. Snape flicked his wand. The lights dimmed and a fire sprang to life in the grate. "_Accio bedclothes._" Hermione's night dress, the same one she'd been wearing since Sixth Year, the practical, faded red flannel one that came up to the neck and down to the floor, floated in from the bedroom. Snape eyed it with frank disappointment. "I'll get you some…more interesting things to wear in time."

Hermione's head suddenly filled with images of herself in stockings, garters— She felt suddenly very warm.

Snape pushed the gown at her. "Get dressed. I'll, er, turn my back."

The warm feeling intensified. She felt that now-familiar fullness below.

True to his word, Snape turned his back and seemed to be regarding her growing library. Books were overflowing her shelves and spilling in neat stacks on the floor. Hermione took off her clothes and pulled on the sensible nightdress.

"Erm," she began, not knowing what to say.

Snape turned. He seemed unwilling to look at her too long. "I'll get you settled," he said.

The unpleasant shock hit her: "You're not staying, then?"

He gave her his full attention. "How are you feeling?"

"Er-better."

"Not well, you mean."

She refused to plead or beg. "I'm better, that's all." She wished desperately he would stay. She needed to feel his arms around her, feel his presence near her.

He seemed to hesitate. "Hermione. I can stay here, share your—very narrow bed. But I don't want to—put too much temptation in my way."

Relief flooded her. He wanted to stay! She looked him directly in the eyes. "I understand. But—I want you to stay. I want you to— I want you."

He gave her a strange look. "Very well." He slung his cloak off his shoulders, plucked some nightclothes from thin air, and removed his shoes and socks. Without asking her to turn her back, he began undressing. Hermione swallowed as his slim, wiry torso came into view. He removed his trousers and pulled on a pair of black pajama bottoms. Then he put out the light, took her arm, and headed toward the bedroom.

Hermione turned on the bedside lamp, but Snape pushed the shade toward the wall so that only a dim light was cast. He lowered himself onto the bed and pulled Hermione into the crook of his arm. "Let's try to sleep," he said, pulling her close.

Hermione put her head on his bare shoulder and her hand across his chest, and closed her eyes. Never had sleep seemed so far away. Her breasts were pressed to his side, only the flannel separating their skin. Her fingers itched to stroke his chest. Her fingers skated across his pectoral. She opened her eyes. His were shut, and she got a rare glimpse of his face in repose, with his features softened.

Then the eyes opened, glittering.


	20. Wedding Plans?

Snape rolled Hermione under him, his mouth coming down in a warm crush on hers. Her heart skipped a beat, then began pounding. He wanted her, too! She lifted her thighs over his hips, hiking up her night dress, and ran her hands up his warm, bare back to knead his shoulders. She couldn't get him close enough. Without thinking, she lifted her pelvis against his. At once, his long hands slid under her and pulled her solidly against him. A little shudder rippled through her. He raised his mouth from hers.

"Don't hold back," he said, just above her lips. "You don't trust me."

Hermione felt as if her body were wax, molding itself to him, opening for him. Her nerves were screaming for his touch, his release. Her throat felt swollen. "I want to," she whispered. "I just, just, see that you might hurt me."

"If I survive tomorrow, I'll make you trust me—little Miss Granger." He rolled his hips against hers. "Open for me."

She obeyed wordlessly. She felt his weight shift and saw him groping for something on the bedside table. He found his wand and brought it up near her temple. That made her flinch instinctively. He let the knuckles of his wand hand touch her cheek. Then he said a few spells she didn't recognize.

"What were those?"

He set the wand back down. "Something for your head. And contraception."

Hermione gulped, remembering her conversation with Ginny. "You're sure they're the latest spells for that?"

His head swiveled toward hers. "Of course I—who's put that rubbish into your head? That Weasley tart?"

Hermione reddened down to her collarbone. She tried to shift her body away, but Snape used his hand and his weight to keep himself pressed between her thighs. "I only—" she began, but Snape broke in harshly, "I don't care who said it. I don't care, Hermione."

His lips were on hers again, and gradually, she realized he had mastered his anger. She relaxed, letting her legs come back around his. He lifted one of her thighs higher on his hip, anchoring her in place again with his other hand under her body. For long moments they continued like that, their lips exploring each other's, Snape pressing against her through their clothes, Hermione arching underneath him, her legs wrapped around his semi-clothed body. Each time Hermione tried to tempt him to take another step toward true completion, Snape gave her just a taste of what could be, pushing more firmly against her swollen tissues or sliding his hands just under her knickers. At times, the stimulation was so intense that her nerves retreated into numbness. But he always seemed to sense this, and would withdraw just a bit, letting her breathing return closer to normal, before pushing the limits even further by hooking her knee with his arm and holding one of her legs high while delving deep within her with the fingers of his other hand, his exploration becoming bolder and more insistent each time.

Hermione spread her thighs as wide as she could and clutched at him through his trousers. He tore his lips from hers and pushed the nightdress high. In the dimness she saw his eyes glittering like black diamonds. She yanked the nightdress over her head. Jerkily, she pulled the garment off entirely and dropped it to the floor just as Snape's teeth closed carefully around one of her highly sensitized nipples. She exhaled on a groan.

Her fingers flew everywhere on him, his hair, his chest, then finally, she pushed her hands deep under the waistband of his trousers. He made some noise and nuzzled his teeth around her nipple, rolling it and bringing his tongue into play. Then he moved his mouth to the other nipple, keeping his fingers squeezing the first. His position made it easy for him to control her body and keep it available to him.

Keeping one hand on her breast, he used the other to wrench down the crotch of her knickers as low as he could get them, then he moved down her body and took them in his teeth, pulling them down the rest of the way. Hermione could only stare at him, crouched near her feet. He pulled off his own trousers and boxers. Then he spread her thighs.

Hermione had never felt so exposed. "Severus," she whispered. He looked up, the black eyes opaque. "You don't," she squirmed to say the word and her mouth was dry, "l-love me. You want me for other reasons. You won't tell me why. I trust you with anything for the Order. But for myself…how can I trust you?"

He lowered his head, his eyes on her all the while, and touched her with the tip of his tongue. Hermione unwillingly closed her eyes. It felt so good, so good. How did he know how to do these things? Her hands came down to stroke his hair, though it was stringy. As soon as he felt that, his tongue moved on her.

As he still said nothing, Hermione's mind thrashed around. Should she leave? Prompt him to reply?

His finger slowly entered her, and then he said, "You trust me with anything for the Order. Why?" The finger was making tiny movements inside her, stroking hidden places Hermione had never known existed.

"I see all you do—oh!" The finger slid slightly deeper into her. "How you risk yourself—ah…" She raised her legs and knew the end would not be far off if he continued. "Ah, stop. Stop. Severus. I'll—"

"What?"

"Let me talk."

The finger slowed. Hermione half-opened her eyes, viewing him through her lashes. His own eyes were lazy and heavy-lidded.

"I see what you've accomplished for the Order. And I know why. That's why I trust you with the Order."

"But not for yourself?" The words were light, and threatening.

"Give me a reason," she said, jutting out her chin.

"I thought I was." He moved again within her.

"Ah…! That's so good! …You know that. You've had a bit of practice. I mean a real reason." She half-rose, on her elbow. "I'm not joking."

"Sh. Lie back down."

Slowly, she eased herself back onto the bed. He was over her again now, his face close to hers and most of his weight pinning her to the bed. He slid his arm under her neck. His other hand pulled one of her legs around him again. Just as Hermione wondered if she had capitulated too early, that he wouldn't tell her anything, he said, "I asked you to marry me. Did you forget?"

"I thought _you_ had."

He moved to her entrance. "I never forget."

He slid just within her. Hermione shuddered. He would have to stop. "You haven't mentioned it since," she said, closing her eyes.

He bent his head to whisper directly in her ear:

"I want you, Hermione. I want to hear you stammer my name when I do these things to you. And I want that insufferable, know-it-all brain on my side when I face the Dark Lord." He flexed his hips, and pushed farther inside her. Hermione felt urgency sweep over her and begin to break inside her in waves.

"Say my name!" Snape commanded, his control sounding ragged. "Say it!" 

"S-Severus!"

He made that odd sound she now associated with his own release. He collapsed half on her, supporting some of his weight on his forearms. Hermione quivered under him.

After a long moment, he rolled, keeping hold of her so that she was again within the crook of his arm, closely held by his side.

He half-raised himself. Hermione opened her eyes drowsily and saw him look around the bedroom, before lowering himself back down on the mattress.

"What are you looking for?" she murmured.

"Something I gave up."

The answer puzzled her, but Hermione was too tired to pursue it.

"My answer has … satisfied you?" he continued, narrowing his eyes.

She was surprised and pleased to hear him asking. As declarations went, his had been nakedly true and a bit satisfying to her vanity. She still suspected that he had concealed some of his feelings as well as some ulterior motives. But she knew now with inner certainty that he would do his best for her. "Yes," she said throatily, squeezing her arm over his waist.

"Then you won't object to a ceremony after tomorrow. Directly after. No guests. And there's that little matter of my Patronus still to settle."


	21. The Dark Lord Returns

Seems like that last chapter didn't grab a lot of you...that, or you were studying hard. Let me know what you think of this... .

* * *

Hermione awoke as she sat bolt upright in bed, sucking in her breath, her heart pounding. It was morning, still dark. She was alone and naked. Her first thought was, "He's Obliviated me." The second was, "I have to face Voldemort today." 

She took a hasty shower and she pulled on her teaching robes. Then she twisted her thick hair on top of her head and stabbed it with a dozen hairpins. She headed out to her classroom in the dungeons, passing no one.

Her hands were shaking, but her head was clear. Having used the Obliviate spell twice herself and seen it used once, she had no doubts about what must have happened last night. "Then you won't object to a ceremony after tomorrow. Directly after. No guests." Those were the last words she remembered hearing, and then—nothing.

Her classroom was darker than outside, where dawn was beginning to pinken the horizon. Waving her wand, she ignited the torches and fire to get some cheerless light into the place. A fine-grained, steely frost covered the wrought-iron work around the high windows.

Hermione began systematically going through each book in the deeply scored bookcase along one wall, looking for information about Voldemort and the Dark Arts. She pulled out one slim volume with a tattered, leather cover and suspicious-looking dark brown splotches on it: _Souls, Wands and Death: Being a Discourse on the Craft of Witchcraft and Wand-Making, Anno Domini 1633._

The temperature in the room suddenly dropped. Hermione's hand purpled and stiffened. A chill shivered up her spine. Gray mist was filtering into the room through the high windows. How were Voldemort's minions getting onto Hogwarts' grounds? Oh…Karkaroff. She ran to the window just as it exploded.

"_Protego!_"

Her cry was almost lost in the sound of shattering glass fragments. When she lowered her arms from her face, she faced three Dementors.

"But they couldn't have smashed the window," she thought. "So Voldemort is just beyondddd…." Despair and hopelessness invaded her thoughts. What was the use? Voldemort had so much power already. She should just give in, make it easier on herself. Yes, give in and let him have his little class, before everyone else came and saw how powerless she really was.

"No!" some corner of her mind screamed. She narrowed her eyes. Not me! She clutched her wand "… Don't bother, don't bother," sang the voice inside her. "No one can withstand the Dark Lord for long… ."

Hermione shook her head to clear it. The Dementors had moved from the windows and were floating toward her, their cold, scabby arms reaching for her, their rotting faces turned toward her. Horrified, she planted her feet firmly, raised her wand hand, and said clearly, "_Expecto Patronum!_"

They hardly quailed, were almost on her.

"_Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum!" _Hermione shouted.

One of them grasped her shoulder with its scabrous hand talon. She could hear its hollow voice in her mind: "Don't worry. It won't hurt. Just a little kiss… ."

NO! her mind screamed. She slashed her wand in front of her and said in her most authoritative voice, "_Expecto…PATRONUM!_"

The silver otter streamed from her wand. It swam after the Dementors, scattering them with playful barrel rolls. The sight of it brought a weak smile to Hermione's lips. But the smile faded almost as soon as it reached the corners of her mouth. More Dementors were floating through the window. And behind them, a high, cold voice said, "So what is to be the answer to my request?"

An answer? She'd give him an answer. She raised her wand at the approaching Dementors…so many of them… "_Expecto P-Patronum_!" A weak, silver vapor trailed from her wand. She steeled herself. "Expecto—"

The door to the dungeon swung open with a nerve-shattering creak.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" someone bellowed. Hermione saw the silver stag leap forward. "Hermione! Put your wand up! There's more of us coming!"

The sight of Harry's flushed face, his hair more tousled than ever, his glasses askew, directing his Patronus around the room scattered Hermione's dark doubts. She raised her wand with more confidence and summoned her Patronus to add to Harry's. Within moments, the Dementors were cleared from the classroom.

Then it was eerily quiet. Only the sounds of Hermione's and Harry's gulping breaths filled the oppressive silence. Their eyes darted around. Then they heard it. The far-away click-clicking of a woman's high heels in the corridor. Hermione saw Harry set his jaw. They knew who that woman would be.

"Show yourself, Voldemort!" Harry yelled. Hermione winced at hearing the name spoken.

"You'll see me soon enough," Voldemort's cruel voice intoned.

Two slim, pallid hands with black nails came around the metal door jamb. Bellatrix Lestrange seemed to pull herself into the room. She was breathing hard, too, but with what appeared to be eager anticipation. She was wearing a satiny, aubergine gown, cut low on top and tight on the bottom. Her black hair straggled wildly around her shoulders.

"Oh," she said, licking her lips like a guest at a banquet and gazing at Hermione, "oh, I've been waiting for this for so, so long."

"Leave her alone," Harry growled. "You want me. I'm here."

Bellatrix curled her lip. "Aren't you shagging that Weasley slag? Maybe you should save the knight errant act for her."

Harry's face went white as paper, then flushed dangerously red. "_Crucio_!" he shouted with a slice of his wand.

Bellatrix pulled her head a fraction of an inch to one side to evade the curse. "Ooh," she mocked. "Must have hit a nerve. You might aim better if you could control your emotions. But, oh dear, you didn't do very well in Occlumency, did you, Potter?"

"Enough!"

The three of them turned. In the entry stood Dumbledore, panting slightly, with McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Snape just beyond him. Dumbledore, Hermione noted with horror, was holding his wand in his left hand. The blackened right one hung limply at his side.

Bellatrix growled. The sound startled Hermione and caught her off-guard for a split-second, enough for Bellatrix to pull Hermione in front of her, her wand jabbed up under Hermione's jaw. "Can't show fear," Hermione thought. Her heart hammered.

"Come any further, and I'll crucio her," Bellatrix snarled.

Harry eyes were practically spitting green fire, and his wand hand was shaking. Snape looked slightly bored. Dumbledore's stern expression didn't change. The others looked grim.

"Dumbledore," said the high, cold voice.

There was a scuffling outside the windows, and Karkaroff, Lucius Malfoy, and several other Death Eaters dropped through the window onto the floor. Malfoy landed on the balls of his feet and stood slowly, a sneer on his otherwise handsome face as he surveyed the scene.

"We might have to permanently alter your little bit of fun, Severus," he said with an icy smile at Hermione. "I do hope that won't bother you."

Hermione's mind was racing. She knew she couldn't count on any help from Snape here. In fact, she fully expected him to insult her at this point and profess his lack of interest, if not outright contempt. So she was mildly warmed by his drawled, "Get me the classroom, Lucius, or better yet, the headmaster's office, and I won't mind a bit."

Hermione heard a muffled grunt from Harry's direction. But before she could turn, Bellatrix yanked her head up by the hair and jabbed her wand into Hermione's neck.

"Thank you, Dumbledore," Voldemort's voice said with glacial amusement. "Having Potter immobilized makes it much easier for me."

"Not while I'm here," Dumbledore said quietly.

"Ah, but I can take care of that," Voldemort returned.

"Not today, Tom," Dumbledore said as though they were about to discuss schoolboy misdeeds in his office. "I have some news for you, and I'm afraid it isn't good."

"You have nothing, old man, and now I'm going to take Hogwarts!"

"Maybe," Dumbledore said genially, "you'd like to see what I have in my hand first."

"What you have in your—" For once, the voice sounded perplexed.

Dumbledore extended his good hand, on the palm of which lay a ring Hermione had never seen before. She craned her neck to see, but Bellatrix yanked her head back so hard that Hermione couldn't suppress a cry of pain. "There's more of that where this came from, Mudblood!" Bellatrix hissed in her ear. "I have a silver knife I can't wait to test on you!"

Hermione willed herself to stop trembling.

"It's Marvolo Gaunt's ring. Perhaps you'd like a better look?" Dumbledore inquired.

There was a roar of fury. A figure pale and inhuman flew through the high window and hovered in the air. "Give it to me!" Voldemort said through his lipless mouth. His slitted eyes flashed red.

Dumbledore cocked his head to one side, as though he had been asked a tricky question on a television game show. "I fear the ring is not what it was," he said. "You see this crack? There was a little matter of Gryffindor's sword—"

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

Hermione flinched. To her surprise, Dumbledore moved with the reflexes of a young man, dodging the curse. "I'm afraid anger won't bring it back, Tom," he said calmly. "I think you should take your followers and leave."

"No, Dumbledore. The Ministry is mine, and Hogwarts, too. You just don't realize it."

Then to Hermione's horror, he flicked his wand not at Dumbledore but in the other direction, where Harry was standing frozen just beyond her line of sight.

"_Protego_!" she shrieked, throwing her arm wide. Dumbledore's wand was out at the same time. Hermione's spell, just wide of Harry, knocked him to the ground away from the hex, while Dumbledore's hit Voldemort in the face. Voldemort smiled, showing teeth that seemed filed to points.

"Ah, Dumbledore. I might have spared you some pain, for old time's sake. But now—"

The hex shot from his wand. Dumbledore parried it easily, and the two began circling each other.

Then suddenly, a blinding pain enveloped Hermione. She had no thoughts. All she knew was pain. Her body felt as if it were being ripped to pieces, her joints and bones coming apart, her skull being crushed. She let out scream after scream of pain.

She heard a crash and someone panting behind her.

"Hermione! Move!" Harry's voice.

Hermione willed her numb limbs to move, but it all seemed to be in slow motion. She couldn't scuttle fast enough.

"Having trouble in the legs, Mudblood?" Bellatrix said. "_Crucio_!"

This time Hermione heard the curse and was able to roll away. Gathering her wits and energy, she lifted her head and shot off two hexes in Bellatrix's direction, catching the dark witch by off-guard.

"_Crucio_!" That was Harry again.

Bellatrix gave a low snicker. "I told you before, Potter, you have to really mean it!"

"Does this work better, then?" Harry said. "_Crucio_!"

This time Bellatrix didn't laugh. She barely got out of the way in time. She and Harry began to duel.

The other staff stood back, waiting, like Hermione.

Amazingly, the Dark Lord was throwing jinx after jinx at Dumbledore, but none of them were finding their mark. Instead, Dumbledore, his useless right arm dangling, was pushing Voldemort into a corner.

"Incar—" Dumbledore began.

"Severus!" Voldemort's voice shook as he parried the hex with a drooping arm.

Purple flame erupted from Dumbledore's wand, and again Voldemort swiped it away, but his arm was even lower and his face was going gray. "Severus!" He sounded as if he were pleading.

Snape spoke now. Hermione was across the room from him. Her hands clenched in anxiety.

"Headmaster," Snape said, apologetically, "I must advise you to step back from our guest."

"Step back?" Harry said incredulously, his eyes never leaving Bellatrix. "Oh, I can't wait to have a go at you, Snape. When I'm finished with this one, I'll give you such a—"

"_Stupefy! Stupefy!_" Bellatrix shouted.

Harry was forced to leave off his plans for Snape's immediate future and give more consideration to his own.

Dumbledore had not let up on his attack on Voldemort, and now the Dark Lord could barely rise from the floor. He was on his knees before Dumbledore, his head tilted back, a malicious gleam in his red eyes, the flattened nose heaving in breaths, the lipless mouth panting. Dark rings encircled his eyes. His hand shook each time he raised his wand.

"He can't last much longer," Hermione thought. "Now's the time for Dumbledore to kill him and be done with it!"

"Oh, Tom. To think it's come to this," Dumbledore said sadly.

He raised both his hands slowly, his wand overhead.

A jet of white shot from Snape's wand straight to Dumbledore's hands.

Hermione and Harry yelled. Dumbledore's blackened hand flew off and hit the wall by Voldemort's shoulder. With a roar, Voldemort rose in the air and escaped through the window. Dumbledore said weakly, "_Stupefy_!" and Snape fell to the ground.

The staff immediately advanced on the rest of the Death Eaters. Pale with fury, Lucius Malfoy turned to follow his master, but Bellatrix shrieked, "No!" She raised her wand in Harry's direction. Lucius and another Death Eater grabbed her and forced her out of the window with them.


	22. Snape Behind Closed Doors

As soon as Lucius Malfoy and the other Death Eater had clambered through the window, yanking the clawing, cursing Bellatrix Lestrange with them, Dumbledore raised his wand in his remaining hand and said weakly but clearly, "_Renervate_."

"Don't waste your energy, Headmaster," said McGonagall severely, lifting her own wand. The other staff murmured agreement, but Hermione saw Flitwick look troubled. Harry fairly crackled with vengeful intent. But Dumbledore held up a placating hand in their direction, unable to muster the strength to answer. Though ashen-faced and shaking, he didn't appear to be bleeding. Hermione thought Snape's spell might have cauterized the wound.

Snape stirred. Hermione didn't budge; he wouldn't want it. But her face was pale with worry and shock. At last the black head lifted from the floor. Snape looked furious to have been taken down in front of them.

Stiffly, he regained his feet and looked around. His eye took in Harry and each Head of House, all poised for attack. Then it rested briefly on Hermione, her wand held tensely at her side, weighing how she might best protect him. At last he turned to Dumbledore sprawled on the stone floor. He took out his wand. Five voices cried, "Oi!" and five wands came out to point at his head. The sixth was pointing at Harry.

"Hermione!" Harry snapped. "Put your bloody wand down or he'll kill Dumbledore!"

Snape waved his wand, and Harry fell to the ground, hard. Hermione shot him a warning look. Coolly, Snape strode across the room to the where the severed hand lay, shriveled and almost monkey-like, against the wall. First he said some words Hermione had never heard before, waving his wand in odd patterns over it. Then he said, "_Evanesco,_" and the hand vanished. "That should be a spell you're familiar with, Potter," Snape added, without turning around. Harry struggled to rise, green eyes promising payback, but whatever spell Snape had used kept him pinned and silent.

Snape turned to eye the staff and said coldly, "It appears the headmaster is need of medical attention."

"Severus," Dumbledore said weakly.

"First period is about to begin," Snape continued, still in his sneering voice. "Now if you don't mind, I have a class to conduct." He swept a scornful gaze over the Heads of Houses, and started toward the door. As an afterthought, he jabbed his wand in Harry's direction, before leaving the classroom with a billow of his cloak.

Harry groaned and made feeble clawing motions toward the door.

"We've got to get Dumbledore to St. Mungo's before the students start arriving," McGonagall said, her mouth a thin line.

Hermione crossed the room and knelt by Dumbledore. "Sir, do you feel well enough to walk?"

"Not St. Mungo's," Dumbledore said clearly. His quivering arm, the one with the hand, gripped Hermione's arm. "Do you know the spell for shock?"

Hermione nodded. "I've read about it. But I've never cast it before."

A trace of a smile lifted the corners of Dumbledore's mouth, then faded. "I'd bet on your unpracticed spells before I'd bet on Chudley Cannons on the Quidditch pitch. Cast it."

Hermione bit her lip, raised her wand, and said with the proper arm sweep, "_Tranquillo_." Dumbledore's trembling lessened, but didn't stop.

"Again."

"T-_tranquillo_."

"_Tranquillus, Serenus, Confuto perculsus_," McGonagall cut in, waving her wand in figure eights, "and Dumbledore, you really should go to St. Mungo's."

"Not in front of the students. I'll be fine. Really." He stood up and smiled benignly at McGonagall and the other Heads of Houses, less Snape. His handless arm was lost somewhere in the folds of his robes. "Ah, and here we are." The first students had prized open the heavy dungeon door and were looking around, their eyes showing a lot of white as they took in the pale faces of the staff and the sight of Harry, pulling himself to his feet with a murderous expression on his face. "Mr. Potter, thank you as ever for your assistance. In my office, if you don't mind. Minerva, Filius, Pomona, Hermione, carry on."

Hermione dearly wanted to ask some questions, but she put on her best teacher face and said brightly to the students, "Take your seats, please. Wands out. Put away your textbooks. We'll be doing lab work today. The Impedimenta spell, I should think… ."

Some hours later, when classes were over for the day, Hermione trudged wearily out of the dungeons toward Dumbledore's office. On the way, she passed Harry, haversack in hand. "Where are you going?"

"Home," Harry said shortly.

"Harry."

He stopped and glanced up.

"Is everything all right?"

"I don't know how you can be with that, that git!" he burst out.

"I think he did it to help Dumbledore—" Hermione began, but Harry cut in, "That's what Dumbledore says. But it doesn't make it any better. In front of everyone, nearly killing him! One of these days, I am going to make Snape pay for all the things he's done!"

"Harry, you've got to put your feelings aside," Hermione said anxiously. "He's saved your life—"

"Not on purpose, and only when it helped himself! Ah—" he spun away, "I can't talk about it any more! You-you—enjoy him!" And Harry strode away.

Hermione watched him go, feeling torn and unhappy. Then she mounted the stairs to Dumbledore's office. She turned the knob and was about to walk in when she heard Dumbledore say, "How much time do I have?"

Hermione backed up.

Snape's voice came to her plainly, "It's impossible to tell with a curse like this, but I should say, perhaps another year, year and a half. I've bought you some time, at least."

"Well," Dumbledore said affably, "then I'll be able to plan things a bit better."

"Dumbledore! I could have done it months ago, in private, and saved you the humiliation, bought you even more time! There's still more I could—"

"I think not," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "But I appreciate your efforts, Severus, as always."

A tight silence followed. Then Snape said, "My standing with the Dark Lord is unchanged. He is happy with my work, if a bit dissatisfied with my aim."

"Has he made you pay for this…dissatisfaction?"

"Not as such," Snape replied neutrally. "But there are no second chances."

"I see. And Bellatrix?"

Snape gave a bark of a laugh. "She knows I've made that Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa, so she's holding her tongue, for now, though she's even less pleased with my hand-eye coordination than the Dark Lord."

Then Dumbledore said, "Hermione? Is that you?" Hermione got the distinct impression that he knew she had been there all the time, and now Snape did, too. She also knew that her lessons in Occlumency were not helping her disguise the pink in her cheeks. She walked into the office as composedly as possible.

"Yes. Sir."

"You may call me Albus now. Or Dumbledore, if you prefer."

Hermione's blush intensified. She felt unable to try either, so she said only, "How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thanks to the efforts of Madam Pomfrey, who has visited me, and Severus's potions. And naturally, I've appreciated your concern and that of the other staff. But now there are some seasonal matters that now require my attention. The Yule Ball Planning Committee will be in any minute. Thank you both, and I'll see you in the Great Hall for dinner." Dumbledore gave them one of his amiable smiles, but Hermione knew they had just been dismissed.

She and Snape descended the spiral staircase together, not speaking. When they reached the bottom, Hermione could have sworn the gargoyle turned to her. Snape's voice, in an undertone, said, "My rooms tonight after dinner." And, still lower, "I have something for you." Then he was gone, heading in the direction of the Great Hall, with all the appearance of having told her off.


	23. Ron's Offer

Dinner in the Great Hall was one of the most trying Hermione had ever experienced. She was seated, for some reason, on Snape's side of the table, two down from him with Flitwick in between. McGonagall was at her usual place, not sparing Hermione a glance. Harry was gone. This is it, Hermione thought. Tonight I will learn something that puts me at ease about seeing Snape, or I break it off with him for good.

The thought of breaking it off filled her with unaccustomed sadness, and she found herself staring at Dumbledore. His right hand was still hidden in his robes. He was eating with only his left hand, as though he'd done it that way every day of his life. The Great Hall was uncharacteristically quiet. Students were whispering among themselves, nudging each other and indicating Dumbledore, who continued to eat with an amiable smile on his face. The dishes for dinner sailed back into the kitchens with the house elves, while trifle and cake began to float from the same place, Dumbledore rose and raised his left arm for silence. At once, the soft roar of conversation ceased. Hermione looked up. The ceiling, a clear gray, was beginning to fog up with silver tendrils.

"Some of you," Dumbledore began, "may have noticed a change about me." He lifted his right arm. Now it ended with…Hermione could hardly bear to look…a—she risked a glimpse—hand? She looked harder. Yes, a hand. Definitely a hand. She felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. What was going on? Had it been a dream? She shot a quick look at Snape. But he was leaning back in his chair, a sly expression on his face. Dumbledore was flexing his right hand, examining its back then its palm. "I may have seemed distant to you lately, less involved," Dumbledore continued. "But I assure you," he cast a severe look over his half-moon spectacles at the goggle-eyed student body below, "I am as engaged as ever, if not more so. I assure you that whatever you may have heard to the contrary, Hogwarts is well protected, and the Dark Lord will not be encroaching on our grounds for some time to come. I would like to personally thank each of our Heads of Houses for their unfailing help in this regard: Minerva McGonagall for her bravery," Hermione saw McGonagall's chin lift, "Pomona Sprout for her loyalty, Filius Flitwick for his quick thinking, and lastly," Dumbledore paused, "Severus Snape for his cleverness." Hermione saw Snape regard the students before him as if they were some particularly loathsome specimens for an experiment he was being forced to conduct. Hermione looked down the table at McGonagall and saw the older woman's thin nostrils flare. "Now, without any further speechifying…dig in!" Dumbledore concluded. The bewildered students slowly turned their attention to the delectables floating before them.

Hermione put down her fork. _What had Snape done to Dumbledore's hand? _Then another thought occurred to her. What had become of her? She remembered herself five years ago, tossing out orders to Harry, Ron, the younger witches and wizards, formulating plans for the Order, carrying them out with nerve. Now what was she? A satellite in Snape's orbit, she answered herself glumly. She didn't dare look his way.

She heard a chair scrape back.

"Headmaster." It was Snape's voice, pitched low but loud enough to carry across the head table.

"Yes, Severus?" Dumbledore replied mildly.

"I have some pressing business to attend to in my office."

"Very well."

Snape gave him a sketchy bow and turned with a billow of his cloak, departing out an oaken side door.

Hermione surveyed her plate some more, unseeingly. At last, she rose. She hardly knew what to say to Dumbledore. At a loss for words, she inclined her head toward him and smiled with only her mouth before leaving by a different door.

With her eyes on the floor, she could not see where she was going. Striding down the hallway, she hit something tall with a _woof_. Someone took her by the shoulder.

"Hermione?"

Looking up, to her surprise, she saw Ron Weasley. He was much taller than she remembered. His shoulders were wider, his collarbone showing above muscle in the vee of his robes. His red hair had darkened to the color of black cherry cola. His skin was clear with spots of color on the high cheekbones, and his blue eyes were, for the moment, focused on her with concern. "Hermione?" he repeated.

"What are you doing here?" she replied bluntly.

"Well, Dad's taken me on at the Ministry. Yeah!" he added when he saw her astonished look. "And I have some ideas I'd like to try to get things working better down there. But, see, I need to be an Auror first. So I came down here to talk to McGonagall about training me. You wouldn't believe what I've had to promise the old battleaxe to get her to agree. But…here I am!" He grinned at her frank amazement.

Hermione blinked. She had known that somewhere inside Ron was competence and ability. He certainly could play the best game of wizard chess she'd ever seen. But usually he came across as lazy, insecure, and lacking serious focus. "Where's Luna?" she managed after a moment.

Ron's smile went out like a flame in a draft. "She went back home," he said. "It, er, didn't work out." He seemed to want to say something more.

"What didn't—work?" Hermione brought herself to probe delicately.

Now Ron looked intensely uncomfortable. "It was just, well, I can't argue with her. She would just stop talking and look at the ceiling or something. I'd rather she'd hexed me or yelled at me, or said something like one of your putdowns. It just got—" he shuffled his feet and turned red—"boring. …Anyway, aren't you still with the g—I mean, er, Snape?"

Hermione scowled. "If you mean 'the greasy git,' then yes, I'm still seeing him."

"And, er, how's it going?" Ron carried off nonchalance better than he used to, Hermione noted.

"It's—" what to say? "never a dull moment. Listen," she hastened to change the subject, "how's the Ministry?"

"Oh, it's, well, it needs improvement." An idea seemed to occur to him. "Say, 'Mione, the Ministry's reworking wizard policies toward magical creatures. No one's taken on house elves yet. Maybe," he hesitated a bit, "you'd like to apply for the position?"

Hermione's heart lifted for the first time in almost a year. This was perfect! Just what she'd been looking for. Excitement and gratitude coursed through her. "That's brilliant, Ron! I'd be so—well, that'd be great! Thanks! Thanks for thinking of me!"

Ron smiled back, and for a moment, contentment and peacefulness mingled with anticipation for the future stole over her. In the next minute, Ron's face reddened and he said, "Well, I guess I'll be seeing you…around."

Hermione felt her own face heat up. "Yeah. Cheers, then."

Confusion, self-recrimination, guilt, and dread battled for her attention as she dragged her feet toward the dungeons. Mentally, she kicked herself. Time to face up and take it, she thought. Time to break off this agonizing dance—

She tapped her wand on Snape's door, which creaked open.

"You're late," came his voice, coldly.


	24. High and Dry

This is the last installment of this fic. Things will pick up two ways from here. This relationship continues on another plane. In another reality, Hermione breaks it off with Snape and takes up again with a more attractive Ron. I'll be starting them soon, so look for them!

* * *

"I ran into someone in the hall," Hermione said calmly, avoiding his gaze under the pretext of straightening her robes. 

"Hm," Snape said, as though investigating the lunch menu. "Have a drink."

"No, thank you."

"Have a _drink_," he cut in. He was already pouring something from one of his many flasks into a thimble-sized glass shaped like a human skull. "So. Who's got you creaming your knickers? It can't have been Potter. He's decamped. It must be Weasley."

His insight shook her. "Sever—"

"Professor, I rather think," he interrupted silkily. "Traitorous mouths have to earn the right to say my name."

"I didn't kiss anyone!" Hermione protested. "It was just—"

"—a meaningless conversation, with everything meaningful between the lines. Maybe you need a lesson in whom you're engaged to. Drink up. And if I were you, I'd take it in one swallow."

The innuendo was plain. Hemione glared at him before tossing back the clear liquor. She began coughing at once.

"Have another," Snape said remorselessly. The liquid in her glass refilled itself.

In full view of her, Snape downed two shots himself, to no visible effect. Then he crossed his arms. "Strip."

Hermione didn't think she had heard him right. The beginnings of fear stirred inside her. In spite of being unofficially engaged to Snape, she had very little real experience with him. She had never seen him like this.

"You heard me," his voice lashed out. "Drink it and strip."

Hermione drank down most of the liquor as quickly as she dared and put her hands behind her back, concealing her wand. "Why don't we talk?" she said, trying to sound composed.

Snape lifted an eyebrow and flicked his wand. An invisible knife cut a huge tear in Hermione's robes, causing them to sag from one of her shoulders. She whipped out her wand.

"_Protego!_" they both said at the same time. To her horror, Hermione watched her wand fly up in the air straight to Snape's hand. He smiled at her triumphantly.

Hermione turned to the door, only to see it slam shut and the heavy bolt shoot home. She spun back around.

"Well?" he said.

"You'll have to tear them off me because I won't make it easy for you!"

Snape licked his thin lips. "Oh, good. Something to look forward to, then." His wand moved again, and a matching rip appeared over Hermione's other shoulder. Now her robes were hanging off her, exposing her upper arms.

She steeled herself. She would not beg. She would not plead. She had done nothing wrong. He was being unreasonable, and she would make him see— A violent ripping noise filled the air. Hermione found herself standing in a puddle of cloth, her robes now truncated somewhere slightly above mid-thigh. Now her schoolgirl shoes and anklet socks were exposed, as well as the pretty legs she took pains to hide. Hermione might have had a plain face, with her oversized teeth and frizzy hair, but her body was nothing to be ashamed of.

She gulped, struggling to keep her expression neutral.

"Come here," he commanded.

She lifted her chin, defying him by not moving.

Snape laughed. "Always boldest when you're cornered. But this isn't like an Unforgivable Curse. I could compel you. But free will is much more interesting."

"This isn't free will!" Hermione snapped.

"Well, no," Snape said, clearly enjoying himself. "_You _like to be in control, don't you?" She remained mutinously silent. "That's problematic," Snape continued. "Because, you see, so do I." Ripping sounds tore through the air again, and Hermione's robes and underclothes fell from her in a jagged heap. Snape smiled. Hermione stood, unwillingly naked before him, trying to conceal as much as possible with her arms in the chilly air.

She hardly knew which way to turn. He wouldn't seriously hurt her, this much she knew. But she shuddered to think about how hard he might push things and how ugly the resulting scene might be. "Oh, for an Imperius Curse now," he said softly, his eyes everywhere on her but her face. "But I want you to really mean it."

Hermione's heart hammered. She should tell him it was finished, right now. She should break it off cleanly, get it over with. But that soft voice blunted her resolve. His eyes were moving over her hungrily. Thoughts of Ron spiraled away.

"Come here," he said again, not so harshly.

Nothing in life had prepared her for this. She had been treated like a grown-up since she was very small. Her academic achievements and natural talent had only encouraged her parents to view her as a miniature adult. At the same time, she had been a lonely child. Not only had she lacked brothers or sisters. She also had grown up not knowing any other magical people and having to keep her own powers secret. She had become used to giving orders and feeling sympathy for the less-gifted. Now she found herself in the sexual thrall of a man both much more powerful and much more vulnerable than she was.

Slowly, she put one foot in front of the other until she stood an arm's length from him. She halted.

"Oh, what to do with you," Snape said, walking around her. His wand was raised. Hermione did her best to look unafraid and kept her eyes forward. "How to rid your mind of the enthusiastic but hopelessly dull Weasley? I could Obliviate you. …Again. You really should take more care around me, Miss Granger."

A shiver went up her spine. "Severus—"

"Professor!" he barked at her, just behind her right ear. Hermione jumped.

"Professor," she repeated, keeping her voice submissive. She was quaking. She had no wand. He could do anything. "It won't—"

"I could try the old methods," Snape continued as if he hadn't heard her. "Just crush the thoughts out of you." She felt his hands gather up the heavy weight of her hair and pull, slowly and inexorably, overpowering her and forcing her to look straight into his snapping black eyes. She did not like being manhandled, and anger galvanized her.

"Let go, you jealous git!"

To her surprise, he let go of her hair and gave her a wintry smile. "Right as usual. But you always were a know-it-all."

The insult stung. Hermione tried not to let it show.

Snape began flicking open the buttons of his robes. "W-what are you doing?" she said, trying not to let her voice quaver.

No need to ask. His robes continued to come off. Panic was starting to bubble into her brain. Turning, she sprinted toward the door. (Stupid, stupid! she berated herself. It's already bolted.) In alarm, she turned toward the first door she saw and started toward it. (Worse! That's the bedroom!)

She threw herself against the door, and his body crashed against her back, pinning her there. He was breathing hard. She could feel the hard wall of his bare chest against her back. She saw his wand tap the door, and it swung open. She would have fallen, but he pulled her against him even harder and began marching toward the bed. Hermione tried to get her feet firmly on the ground, but he had her half-raised in the air and she couldn't get traction. He slung her over the bed face-first, her rump in the air, her legs over the side.

What followed would always make her blush crimson. They did things to each other she had never thought she would do, and what was worse, she found herself more aroused than ever before.

* * *

He kept at her all night, giving her almost no rest. As soon as she reached the pinnacle of one climax, he rode her until she reached another. 

She left his rooms at 6:30, feeling sore in every muscle. Her buttocks throbbed from having been smacked more than once or twice.

I should hate this, she thought. This is wrong. What's happening to me? I need to break it off with him—oh, I can't!

She was in a much worse muddle than ever before as she headed for Dumbledore's office.

"Sir, how is your, er, hand?"

"Oh, fine," Dumbledore said genially. He produced it and flexed it for her. "It's a fake, you know. Severus helped find the right spell for it. It doesn't really function. It's a decoy. An illusion."

Hermione's face fell. She had really thought it was genuine.

"Not all things can be replaced, Hermione," Dumbledore said gently. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," Hermione said distractedly.

"I have a confession to make."

Confession, confession. Hermione's mind was a million miles away, on Snape's black counterpane, her thoughts spinning around madly.

"You may have noticed yourself under a spell some years ago. A lenttempus curse."

Hermione's slow brain finally snapped into the moment. "How do you know about that? Sir?"

"It was—It was I who cast it."

Hermione could only stare at him.

"Don't think too badly of me. I thought it might put you more in Severus' path. I thought you could help one another. I had no idea things would go as far as they have."

Hermione could not answer for some moments. At last she said, "It's all right, sir. It's worked out. I mean, it's worked out for the best." A surge of panic rose in her as she said the words.

Dumbledore regarded her over his half-moon spectacles. "Very well," he said. "Aren't your classes about to begin?"

Hermione left his office feeling more torn than ever.

* * *

_Fin_


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